


a dragon's cry and a storm of snow

by ghostrider



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood, Dragons, GoT au, M/M, Violence, War, i mean if you have seen GOT u know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostrider/pseuds/ghostrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Game of Thrones AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a dragon's cry and a storm of snow

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a GOT fan: for this fic, i replaced the city of Pentos with the city of Meereen. also, if you're aware of the 'R+L=J' theory, well that is irrelevant to this fic. i havent read asoif so if there are technical mistakes, im sorry.  
> If you're not a GOT fan: you can still read this.  
> anyway enjoy i hope yoU LIKE THIS IDK BYE BABIES.

The wind bellows, louder and harder around him as he strides forward. His fists remain clenched, his jaw set, the heavy cape on his back weighing down on his shoulders. There is guilt in the pit of his stomach, guilt for something that according to his companions is not even his fault. But Liam can’t help the way he feels; if he hadn’t trusted Stannis Baratheon, the self-appointed king of the Seven Kingdoms in the first place, the blood of almost a hundred Wildlings wouldn’t be on his hands right now. He was a fool to trust Stannis, he was a fool to provide him a place to stay at Castle Black and he was a fool to join forces with him. But he’s done with naivety and kindness, he’s seen how that ends; in puddles of innocent blood.

Heads turn towards him when he enters the castle’s courtyard. All the men of the Night’s Watch have gathered just as he had ordered, and in the middle of them is a raised wooden platform with Stannis Baratheon standing on it with two of Liam’s men on either side. Solemnly, Liam walks up the steps until he reaches Stannis. One nod of the head and his men are lowering Stannis to his knees, the self-acclaimed king doesn’t utter a word. His punishment had already been announced a day before, his pleas had already been denied with contempt. Liam watches with disdain in his eyes, a bad taste in his mouth, as Stannis’ head is laid down on a block in front of him, the neck bared to him, ready for the strike.

This is the first time he is going to carry out an execution with his own sword, when he was elected as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch Liam hadn’t even thought he’d have to carry a task so lethal, so soon. But what has to be done has to be done. He’s the one who his men and comrades are looking up to; he’s a man of honor and justice. And execution is the only penalty the despicable man in front of him deserves.

He pulls out his bastard sword, the sound of metal clinking, sliding out, magnified by the wind which seems to be fighting its own battle against his face. And then he’s holding it out; just a foot above Stannis’ neck. He can feel the eyes on him, waiting in anticipation, waiting for justice, waiting to see if he will in fact behead Stannis. Liam Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, the honorable son who was abandoned by his unknown mother, who was shy growing up in the shadows of his Stark siblings. Least favorite of his dad, despised by his step mother. Today, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, leader of almost 10,000 men, capable of winning a fierce battle against the Wildlings, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms – a rapid sling of his sword, a muffled scream from the crowd and he witnesses Stannis’ head fall off the block, on the wooden platform, blood already pooling around it. Blood not enough in exchange to that of a hundred innocent men and women.

“Loki,” he calls out, and in an instant a wolf, unusually large, covered all over with snow white fur, launches itself onto the limp body lying in front of him. He watches, trying not to wince as his direwolf sinks its sharp teeth into flesh, digging into his food with ravenous hunger.

“Bring Lady Melisandre to me,” Liam commands the two men awaiting his order, before he turns away from the corpse in front of him and descends the stand.

The crowd scatters with him, people going back to their appointed tasks as if nothing had occurred. His jaw set, Liam strides towards his quarters, shutting the door behind him when he reaches his office; shrugging his cape off to hang it on an iron nail protruding out a wall, he throws his blood stained sword on the hard desk. He is breathing heavily, an ache in his head. He paces in the room, his head in his hands, agitated, in disbelief.

He just carried out his first execution, he just killed a man and it was not in self defense. He lets out a growl, in an attempt to let the guilt brewing inside him out, punching the hard desk just as the door behind him flies open. He turns around to find a boy standing there, golden hair and blue anxious eyes.

“Are you alright, Lord Snow?” the boy asks, “Do you need me to bring you something? Water, food? Anything?”

Liam runs a hand through his short brown hair, trying to arrange his thoughts and composure, “No, Niall. Just take the sword, clean it and then bring it back to me.”

Immediately, Niall comes forward and lifts the stained sword. He says in a low, calm voice when he is standing beside Liam, “I know you don’t want me to say this but you were brave out there. Really brave. And you did the right thing. Stannis took a hundred innocent lives, he deserved what he got.”

And then Niall leaves, leaving Liam behind to feel the weight on his shoulders lighten a little. He sinks into his chair, sighing deeply when the rusty black door is pushed open again, an armored knight dragging a red headed woman inside, her hands tied together in the front. With a nod of his head, Liam dismisses the knight and signals for Stannis’ ex-advisor to take a seat. Having no other option, Melisandre obliges.

“You do understand that I could have you beheaded as well?” Liam asks, once the knight has left and he’s alone with the woman, a ferocity to her sharp looks despite her captivity.

“I had nothing to do with it, I advised him not to go through with it but he was unyielding,” Melisandre says, “He was the king, I am just an advisor. I could do nothing after he set his mind. Believe me, I tried. I would never partake in a massacre of innocent people.”

“I do believe you. Why else do you think you are alive?”

“Then why am I still in chains?”

“Tell me exactly why Stannis was here and you are a free woman,” Liam instructs.

Melisandre pauses for a second, narrows her eyes contemplating, before she starts, “For what he told you he was here for, he did not lie to you. He wanted the aid of your men to take the Iron Throne from the Lannisters. He was never going to harm the Wildlings, but then you took them in and he thought that it could sabotage his plans; having Wildlings here would affect your decision of helping him. So he went rogue and murdered them all, he thought you wouldn’t care considering how the Wildlings have been at war with your people since ages.”

“Yes, but those people were my prisoners not Stannis’,” he says gruffly, “And more than half of them were women and children who hadn’t laid a finger on any of us.”

“Again, and for the last time, I had nothing to do with it,” Melisandre states again, “I was against Stannis’ idea. He on the other hand, was determined to do everything to get you to agree to help.”

“Why was my help so important to him?” he asks, “He was Stannis of the House Baratheon, he could have recruited anybody. And his own army looks powerful enough.”

“Not as strong as the Lannisters,” Melisandre corrects, “They are loaded with weaponry and soldiers. Stannis wanted all the help he could get. And you Lord Snow, you are a man of the North. Nobody is adept enough to know how to get to Kings Landing through Winterfell than you are. Also, Stannis needed to form an army fast. The Lannisters have spies all over Westeros, they already knew Stannis was planning; they might know you are involved too. They are going to attack the North sooner or later. I can assure you that, Lord Snow. And after the recent death of Tywin Lannister I don’t think it will be long before they do.”

“What if we send them a raven with the news of Stannis’ death? What if we sign a truce, a peace treaty? Would that stop them?”

“You don’t see Lord Snow, Stannis wasn’t the only threat to House Lannister. There are many others, insignificant ones that the Lannisters have no reason to fear. But there is a Targaryen residing in Meereen, a Stormborn. And he is not insignificant. People are calling him the ‘Father of Dragons’. He has taken over all cities of Slaver’s Bay just in a week, has freed slaves all over the land and he isn’t going to stop until he takes the Iron Throne. The Lannisters know his power and since it won’t be sensible to sail all the way to Meereen and attack him, they will come for the North. They will try to take Winterfell to expand their kingdom. Almost all your family is either dead or missing, Lord Snow, now you are the rightful owner of Winterfell. It is better if you start preparing to protect your home.”

“I can’t put my people’s lives at risk, Lady Melisandre,” he says anxiously, “The Lannisters are way too powerful to be defeated by the resources and warriors I have. Our duty is to hold The Wall, that is all we are equipped to do.”

“I could offer you the same advice I gave to Stannis. He denied it, and look where he is now,” Melisandre says, a glint in her eyes, “But only if you want.”

“I am listening,” he says.

“You are not going to like this, but I advise that you leave Castle Black,” Melisandre begins, “Gather as many of your men as you can, you’ve got Stannis’ army behind you too. They won’t object to anything you tell them because they have seen you behead their king, they know what you are capable of. And then, you should leave for Meereen. Go and meet the infamous Targaryen, offer to join forces with him and help him conquer Kings Landing. He gets the throne he is after and if all that is said about him being just and kind is true, you get Winterfell.”

“But what if all that is said about him isn’t true?”

“He is worshipped by the people he is ruling; I think it’s fair to say Lord Snow, that it must be true.”

“What if he denies my help?”

“He _needs_ your help. And he likes honorable, conscientious men like you. You are the son of Eddard Stark, and your father was nothing but a noble man. I am sure he will consider it.”

“I’ll have to think about this,” Liam concludes, not being able to decide. He does want his home back, he does want Winterfell. Not for himself but for his siblings if they ever must return. He has only heard of one death; Robb’s. He knows his sisters and brothers are alive, he refuses to believe otherwise until he has solid evidence. But on the other hand, he is Lord Commander now. He has duties, a mass of men to lead and he has sworn to fulfill those duties. He is torn, he needs to think and he can’t do it with Melisandre staring at him with keen eyes, “You can leave now, Lady Melisandre. Walk outside, walk to the courtyard, they’ll free you. You can choose to stay or leave.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Melisandre says, struggling to get out of her seat not being able to use her tied hands, “Stannis was the only one I had. I would rather stay here and be of your help.”

“It’s your choice, if you want to stay at Castle Black, nobody will force you to leave and you will be protected like all others.”

Melisandre thanks him with a curt bow and then turns around to walk outside. The moment she leaves, Niall enters. And Liam had been expecting that; whenever Liam is having a meeting or has a visitor, Niall stays and waits by the door. He doesn’t think its kind to interrupt but then he also doesn’t think it’s invasive to eavesdrop.

“Were you listening?” he asks, once Niall comes in and lays a shining sword, as good as new in front of him.

“No,” Niall says, his crooked grin and mischievous blue eyes giving away the lie.

“So what do you think then?” Liam asks, just because he wants to talk to someone about the information he has just gained, “Should I leave Castle Black? Should I go meet the Targaryen?”

“There are a lot of people talking about him. They say his dragons can burn whole cities to the ground with just one breath of fire.”

“Dragons are extinct. I am sure he doesn’t have dragons.”

“Then why do his people call him the ‘Father of Dragons’?”

“To provoke fear in people’s hearts, perhaps.”

“Why would he have to lie to do that? He has a large army of the Unsullied; he doesn’t really need dragons to induce fear in people’s hearts.”

“What are the Unsullied?”

“They are warriors, slave-soldiers who have been trained to fight and only to fight since birth. Their only purpose is to serve their masters. People say none of them have any man-parts, so they can only focus on battle and training.”

“How do they not have any man-parts?”

“They’re castrated when they are born. I put it in simpler terms before because I didn’t think you’d get it, the struggle you have going on with big words.”

“I’m not that bad with big words,” Liam grins at Niall who is rolling his eyes at him.

“Anyway, they’re basically brought up just to fight. In an environment that doesn’t allow them to do anything else. So they’re immune to pain, forming the most disciplined, deadly army out there.”

“And you want me to form allies with a man who has an army of the Unsullied, who casr- cuts off his soldier’s man-parts?”

“The Targaryen boy saved them from their masters. He freed them and asked them to fight for him as free men, and the whole 20,000 of the Unsullied pledged their allegiance to him. He didn’t do those awful things to them, he granted them freedom.”

“How do you even know these things?” Liam asks, mildly in awe of his steward/advisor/squire/best friend/he doesn’t know what exactly to call Niall. He just does a lot for Liam and Liam really wouldn’t survive a day without this boy.

“I am really good at eavesdropping,” Niall replies shortly.

“That you are,” Liam agrees, “So you think I should go?”

“This is your best chance to get Winterfell back, if your siblings ever come back, you’ll have their home to offer them. I know how badly you want to find them; you’re not going to be able to do that protecting The Wall.”

Liam sinks back into his seat, he knows Niall is right. He somewhat knows what decision he’s going to make, and if he’s going to settle on that, then he has a lot of work to do. A lot to take care of; he has to appoint a temporary Lord Commander, has to assemble his men and organize his troops. This is going to be one hell of an expedition that he sincerely hopes ends in his favour.

—-

Standing on the balcony of his chambers, his eyes search relentlessly for a flash of red and black swimming through the rusty sky. The last time he had seen Drogon was a week ago when the dragon had flown away, from right beside him, without turning back once. Since then, there has been no sign of him and now Zayn is truly worried.

If he’s being honest, he’s been really concerned about his dragons since a few weeks now. It’s like they are not in his control anymore. At first, when they were hatchlings, they were easy to manage. They barely ever left his side; Drogon perched majestically on his left shoulder his tail thrown around his neck, a musty green Hazzeal flying an inch or two above his head and a jumpy Arien covered in gold markings skipping beside his left foot. Zayn had even taught them how to obey some of his commands; when to breathe fire, when to stop flying, when to go back to their respective cages. But now, they aren’t hatchlings anymore. They are larger and scalier than Zayn could have ever imagined; their wings spreading out covering half the sky, casting a ghastly shadow below. His own people call them ‘gigantic fire beasts’ and Zayn would hang them for disrespecting his _children_ like that only that they aren’t exactly wrong. Drogon had wreaked havoc; he had burnt down entire fields of cattle and crop and had disappeared off somewhere before Zayn could even do something about it. When he had seen what catastrophe and misery his largest dragon had caused his own people, Zayn had done what he couldn’t have thought of doing in a million years.

At the base of the Great Pyramid in which Zayn has taken residence, is a Pit; 40 feet deep and large enough to hold 500 men, and that is where he had locked up his Hazzeal and Arien with bold iron collars connected with heavy chains around their necks so that they didn’t get a chance to do what Drogon had. He remembers how they had screeched and roared at him, how they had _cried_ for him, the Pyramid had trembled with the thundering echoes, when he had shut the heavy iron doors on them, holding back tears because crying was a sign of weakness and weak was the last thing he ever allowed himself to be. Those roars, those calls, they still ring in his ears. He misses Hazzeal’s emerald green eyes, misses Arien’s scales glowing bright in the sun. But he knows he can’t put his peoples’ lives at risk. They accepted him as their ruler, they trusted him with their lives – he can’t let them die just for the sake of his dragons’ freedom. A king protects his people with everything he has.

Footsteps divert his attention from the sky, and he turns around to find Harry approaching him, the mess of curls on his head bouncing as he walks up to the balcony, dressed in light blue robes that previously belonged to him.

“Are you still searching for the dragon?” Harry asks, once he’s beside him.

“His name is Drogon,” he says, glancing at the sky once more just in case.

“Drogon, yes,” Harry clicks his tongue, “Anyway, there’s commotion down in the ground quarters, apparently Ser Winston has received a raven from the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Wasn’t the Lord of Winterfell beheaded by Joffry Baratheon?” he inquires, as he leaves the balcony to walk inside, Harry trailing behind him.

“Uh, then maybe it was from the Lord of the North, or some Lord-” Harry cuts himself off before adding, “I am sorry, but Ser Winston will explain everything to you in detail later, I am just informing you beforehand.”

“Did you happen to hear what the message was?”

“I think, and I am guessing again, the Lord is on his way to Meereen with his army to meet you.”

“Why does he want to meet me?”

“Only Ser Winston knows.”

“Remind me again why I chose you to be my attendant again?”

“Because I can speak all the languages you can’t, my King,” Harry bows in front of him with a wink, the cheeky smile on his face that Zayn had taken to the moment he had freed the boy from his master, “Also I know what’s going on with you even when you won’t tell me.”

“And that is why it’s better if you stay right here with me,” Zayn states, sitting down on the chair right at the head of a long rectangular, mahogany table, five candles burning in the middle.

“Your Highness,” a very grave Ser Winston enters the chambers, a small piece of rolled parchment in his hand which he hands to Harry who brings it to Zayn, “We’ve just received this from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Liam Snow.”

“Snow? The bastard son of Ned Stark?” Harry asks, bluntly.

“Yes, precisely,” Ser Winston affirms, continuing with the delivery of his news, “He is coming here with about five thousand men. The message says he’s only coming here to meet you and discuss matters regarding the Iron Throne, but I have my doubts.”

“What doubts?” Zayn questions, his slender fingers mindlessly tracing the cursive ink spelling _Liam_ on the parchment.

“Liam Snow was in alliance with Stannis Baratheon-”

“The man who massacred a hundred innocent men a few weeks ago?” Harry asks, horror apparent in his voice.

“-yes,” Winston nods his head curtly, clearly irritated by Harry’s interruptions, “And recently, we heard that Stannis Baratheon himself has been decapitated. I don’t think you should trust a man who helps carry out a massacre and then beheads his own ally.”

“I can decide for myself whether to trust someone or not,” Zayn states firmly, knowing very well how his advisor won’t object to that, “I’m not going to turn away someone from my city without listening to what they have to say, that won’t be polite or fair.”

“He’s approaching with an army _Khal_ ,” Winston presses, “What else do you think he could be here for? What if he attacks?”

“I am not going to give him a chance to attack,” Zayn states, getting up from his seat and walking up to Winston with the piece of parchment in his hand, “Take Ser Jorah and as many soldiers as you want to the outskirts of Meereen. Stand guard there until Liam Snow arrives. If he attacks, take him and his army down. If he wants to enter peacefully, promise his men shelter and safety. And he himself should be brought here, to the Pyramid. He needs to be under watch at all times.”

“What if we aren’t able to take his army down?”

“You said he has five thousand men, I am positive that two thousand of my Unsullied would be enough to defeat them,” he says confidently, “And if required, I will come down to the battlefield myself. But I do sincerely hope that Liam Snow means what he says, for his own sake. Here, send a raven back to him. Tell him we are waiting and he’ll be welcomed to Meereen with whatever he proves himself worthy of.”

“As you command my King,” Ser Winston bows, taking the parchment that Zayn hands him and turning around to leave his chambers.

“Will I fight too?” Harry asks him, “If the attack does happen?”

“Only if I fight,” he looks at Harry, who is grinning like he just can’t wait for the battle to happen.

“I hope you do, and no no, not because I want a war or something! I just want to see you take Liam Snow down.”

“Why would I take him down?”

“Because he is clearly a bad and heartless man,” Harry says as if he’s stating the obvious.

“We don’t know that yet.”

“Well, let’s see,” Harry says, lifting his hand, sticking fingers out one by one as he speaks, “He killed a hundred men, [sticks one finger out], in their sleep, [another finger out], with Stannis _Baratheon_ [third finger out]. And last time I checked, it was his brother who threw your father off the Iron Throne and killed most of your family.”

“Yes, but let’s not plan on killing Snow before finding out if he can be of any advantage to us,” Zayn asserts, “Let’s be patient for a while and see what he’s coming here for. And then we can decide what to think of him.”

“Um, I had not thought of it that way,” Harry says, “Anyway, it’s time to go down to the Hall, there are a hundred people lined up outside with their requests, waiting for you.”

Giving a slight nod, Zayn starts to make his way out of his chambers, to descend down the stairs that lead to the Hall.

“Wait,” Harry calls out, “You always forget.”

He watches as Harry skips past the curtains and into his bedroom, coming back with a thick wide band made of gold in his hands. Zayn gives him a curt smile, as Harry places the band on top of his head, which goes around his forehead, setting right above his ears in a comfortable manner.

“What is a king without a crown?” Harry says, giving him another habitual wink, knowing very well how Zayn hates the word ‘crown’. It symbolizes extravagance more than it does power in his mind and he doesn’t really need a crown to be a king.

“This is _not_ a crown,” Zayn counters, turning around to exit the chambers, Harry chuckling lightly behind him as he follows him out.

—-

It’s hot in Meereen. It’s burning hot and he can feel every inch of skin under his black leather doublet sweating, his choice in trousers and boots isn’t doing him any favors either. Soldiers in matching grey armors, accompany him upstairs to the Hall where he’s been told the King is waiting to meet him. There’s a stubborn Loki running behind him, letting out exhausted growls from minute to minute, and refusing to back down or leave his side. And there’s Niall behind Loki, a pitcher of water in his hand, occasionally muttering profanities under his breath.

The rest of his men have already been promised shelter and safety by the people of Meereen but the King wanted him to stay at the Great Pyramid. And honestly, Liam has never seen a Pyramid so gigantic in his life before. He thinks it might be the same height as the Wall, maybe even taller. He doesn’t even know how many steps he has ascended, but he does know he has been at it since about twenty minutes now. The Pyramid is grey and dull inside, a striking difference from how magnificent and intricately designed its exterior is. There are inscriptions and engravings on the walls on either side of him that make no sense to him, stuff scribbled in a language he doesn’t understand or speak.

“Wait here,” a soldier says halting in front of an entrance which Liam is thankful to have reached. The soldier leaves them behind with his companion, as he disappears inside. After a short interval during which Liam checks on Loki and manages to steal some water from Niall’s pitcher, the soldier is back, “You can go inside now.”

Liam nods before he enters what he assumes is the Hall, Loki growls behind him when one of the guards tries to hold him back and Liam smiles to himself when he feels the direwolf right behind him again with a short dry, victorious laugh from Niall.

The Hall is nothing like what he’s seen of the Pyramid up till now which is dull and monotonous. It’s splendorous instead; wide, spacious, high-ceilinged with tiles and purple, smooth marble covering the walls. Pillars surround them holding up the ceiling, tall candles burning amongst them creating a tranquil atmosphere, soldiers dressed head to feet in grey standing with their backs to the pillars, shields and spears in hands.

And then on the middle of it all, on a risen platform, perched on an ebony bench that looks nothing like a throne, is a man unlike any man Liam has ever seen before. Wearing grey trousers under a navy blue doublet, a thin gold belt around his waist, the brown skin of his bare, tattooed arms on display, his cheekbones so prominent they’re the first thing Liam notices about his face. Hair, as black as a raven, framing his face, falling past his ears and curling delicately at the ends. A golden thick band goes around his forehead, just above his dark eyes which are locked on Liam, making him very aware of himself all of a sudden.

“You may proceed,” a voice says and Liam notices a tall boy with mildly curly hair, falling all the way down to his shoulders, standing right behind the man for the first time.

Liam steps forward, mounts the few stairs and then he’s standing a feet away in front of the breathtaking man. Liam bows, “Your Majesty, I am Liam Snow. Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, son of the late king of the North, Eddard Stark, and the rightful heir to Winterfell.”

“Zayn Stormborn of the House Targaryen,” the man identifies himself, his thick voice bouncing off the marble walls.

“He’s the first of his name, the King of Meereen, the Breaker of Chains, _Khal_ of the Great Grass Sea and the Father of Dragons,” the curly haired boy, who Liam takes to be his attendant, adds.

“What are you here for, Liam Snow?” Zayn inquires, “Taking from the number of men you’ve brought with you, it couldn’t be only to pay us a visit.”

There’s a hint of antipathy in Zayn’s manner that he doesn’t get or maybe he’s just imagining it, the enthrallment he had to undergo due to Zayn’s splendor must have made him paranoid, “I understand that you are planning to take over Westeros, you’re aiming to conquer Kings Landing and take the Iron Throne for yourself.”

“Yes, I am. My ancestors were ousted from the throne unfairly and sacked by the House Baratheon. And I am going to take back what’s rightfully mine” Zayn states firmly, the bitterness still evident in his tone.

“Well, I am here to offer you help in doing that,” he says.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because Winterfell is my home. The Lannisters beheaded my father, they took my sister hostage, had a hand in killing my brother and have a strong hold over Winterfell. I want to get Winterfell back before they take over the entire North and make it impossible.”

“How can I trust you?” Zayn asks him, facial expression hard and stony.

“Do you have a reason not to?” Liam questions back, he wants to know why there’s animosity lingering behind Zayn’s eyes.

“Well, you were in alliance with the very man whose family exiled my ancestors and executed most of them,” Zayn says, “There was also a massacre of innocent men in the North a few days ago. How can I trust a man who would do such a thing?”

“It wasn’t him,” Niall says before Liam can object, “It wasn’t Lord Snow who murdered the Wildlings.”

“And who are you?” Zayn directs the question at Niall, his manner still guarded.

“This is my squire, Your Majesty,” Liam answers, glancing sternly at Niall, “He’s new at this so he doesn’t really know when to speak and when not to. I apologize for his outburst.”

“There is no need,” Zayn says, “If Niall has to say something he can.”

“Lord Snow didn’t murder those people, Your Majesty,” Niall begins immediately, moving forward with Loki beside him until he reaches the steps, “It was all Stannis’ doing. He betrayed us. We gave him a place to stay and Lord Snow promised him his men, but Stannis killed all the Wildlings just because they had refused to fight for him. He did it overnight so none of us knew until the morning. That’s when Lord Snow found out and then he executed Stannis for what he had done.”

There is a short period of silence after that, then Zayn speaks, “You could be making all this up.”

“We have 5,000 men with us, you can ask each one of them what occurred, and they’ll tell you the exact same thing,” Liam says, voice firmer. He’s annoyed now; no one has ever accused him of doing such a merciless, wicked thing before. It’s a shame to be standing in front of a person he barely knows and have his morals questioned, “I would never do such a cruel thing; I’d never kill an innocent man, let alone a hundred. If you still don’t choose to believe me, I am fine with that. I’ll take my men and leave Meereen immediately.”

“No, we don’t turn away our guests like that,” Zayn says instantly, “I just need time to come to my decision. Alliances aren’t made in just a moment. Harry will show you the guest apartments, you can stay there with your squire and your- uh, is that a wolf?”

“Direwolf,” Liam states automatically, “His name is Loki.”

“A direwolf? You brought a direwolf into my chambers?” Zayn asks, raising his right eyebrow. He looks mildly amused but again, Liam doesn’t know if it’s amusement or repugnance.

“He’s harmless. Well, unless he’s told not to be,” Liam explains, “Normally he doesn’t stay glued to me but the surroundings are new for him and he’s not accustomed to the climate here. So I am requesting you to let him stay with me, I can assure you he’ll cause no damage. He’s completely under my control.”

He watches as Zayn’s eyes wander over Loki, inspecting the animal, and suddenly Liam feels a weird kind of warmth in his chest. And then Loki lets out an affectionate whine the one he lets out when Liam is petting his head or cuddling him under his arm, explaining the strange feeling. Liam doesn’t know how it works, but he has been mysteriously bonded with Loki since the day he rescued him; him and the wolf, they know when the other is in pain or when the other is content. And Loki feels content, Loki _likes_ Zayn. It’s highly unusual of Loki to take to someone so easily but before Liam can ponder over this bizarre happening, his eyes fall back on Zayn who has his gaze fixed on Loki, his lips curved into half a smile, not a speck of hostility on his face, looking as if not of this world. And involuntarily, he breathes out a small ‘ _wow_ ’ which the air decides to keep a secret.

“He can stay with you,” Zayn says, “You can keep Loki, make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone innocent.”

“He won’t,” Liam says, “I can promise you that.”

“Alright then,” Zayn says, as he stands up, slender and tall, posture straight and imposing, “Harry will show you to your quarters. You’ll be given clothes that don’t make you sweat like that, and if you need anything else you can ask the guards that you’ll find outside your room.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Liam says, and then Harry is stepping down and he’s turning away from Zayn to follow Harry out. Niall starts walking beside him, Loki behind Niall. He doesn’t really know if Zayn is watching them leave and doesn’t really have an excuse to check if he is, and he can’t explain why he secretly hopes that Zayn is.

—-

Zayn had already made his decision when Niall had cleared up the rumors regarding Liam, and if that wasn’t enough, it was the honesty and bravery in Liam’s brown eyes that had done it. But he still wanted to run his decision through Ser Winston and now after discussing matters, he’s concluded that he’ll accept Liam’s offer of help. It’s not like his own army and dragons are incapable of taking over Kings Landing, it’s just that the more the men, the larger his army, the easier the task, the more the chances of him winning.

Now a day later, he waits in his own chamber, seated at the head of the table, instinctively playing with a gold ring on his left middle finger. Someone clears their throat and he looks up to find Liam standing at the entrance, Loki right beside him, coming up to his waist. He’s not wearing his black leather doublet and heavy shoes anymore; he’s changed into a grey loose knee length cotton shirt, which hugs his broad chest in all the right ways, round at the neck, black trousers underneath. Sandals similar to that of Zayn’s, just not golden, hold his feet; a black thick belt goes around his wide waist, holding his sword. He has his lips pressed in a line, hands behind his back, brown short hair slicked back, neatly.

“Come in,” Zayn says, and Liam walks forward, Loki behind him, “Take a seat.”

Liam settles into the first one, on the right side of the table, right beside Zayn, almost too close. Zayn can see the exact colour of his eyes and the exact shape of the birthmark on his neck that previously he had thought was a mud mark.

“Have you made your decision?” Liam asks, once he has settled down and Loki has settled right beside his left foot, his bushy tail coming to rest on Zayn’s feet.

“I have, yes,” Zayn says, “I welcome you to join your forces with me and we can take what is ours together.”

“I am glad,” Liam smiles widely and his eyes; they do this thing where they form thin curved lines on his face, crinkling beside the edges and dragging his cheeks up in pure joy, “I am glad you decided to give me a chance. There is no way we are losing this battle.”

“I sincerely hope we don’t,” Zayn says, trying not to get too stuck on staring at all the adorableness on Liam’s face. He doesn’t look as grave or broody as he looked yesterday, he looks at ease, and more relaxed, radiating warmth, “Have your men been in battle before?”

“Yes, twice,” Liam assures, “We won both times. Just 250 of my men protected Castle Black against almost a 1000 Wildlings. So they are trained enough, and we do have time to prepare more. We have time until the Lannisters find out about our plans and decide to attack, if we don’t do it first. Also we have Loki, and your dragons. The Lannisters won’t stand a chance against us.”

“You have thought a lot about this, clearly,” he says, Liam’s sudden enthusiasm and confidence almost causing him to smile.

“This is my only chance of getting my home back,” Liam tells him, there’s determination in his eyes, the kind that’s intimidating, the kind Zayn likes, “My only chance of finding out where my siblings are.”

A look of sadness makes itself known on Liam’s face, and all he wants to do is wipe it away. He doesn't understand why, all he knows is that he prefers the excited Liam from a second ago more than this gloomy one.  
  
“We will get your home back,” Zayn says, his hands itch to reach out and touch Liam’s but he knows how inappropriate that would be so he just fists them together in his lap instead, “And mine. I’ll have Drogon burn the entirety of Kings Landing down if I have to, we are not losing this battle.”  
  
“Is Drogon one of your dragons?” Liam asks, and that light is back in his eyes, flickering behind the murky brown pupils but never fully showing itself.  
  
“Yes,” Zayn says, “Drogon, Hazzael and Arien.”  
  
“Where are they?” Liam asks, and then visibly backtracks, “I mean if you don't mind me asking. I have heard so much about them, but I have never seen one.”  
  
“I've had them- they're- I’ve actually-” he doesn't know what to tell Liam, he doesn't want to tell Liam he can't control his own dragons, he doesn't want to say he has locked up his own babies down in a dark pit, so he lies, “They are around. You'll see them flying around.”  
  
Liam has his eyes narrowed at him; it's apparent how Liam had probably caught on his hesitation. He hopes Liam doesn't question it but, “You do have dragons, right? It isn't just a rumor?”  
  
“I do,” he snaps instantly, a fire igniting in his chest as he says furiously, “Are you questioning my integrity? Do you think I go around lying to my people?”  
  
“I didn't mean to offend you, you just didn't seem very sure for a bit,” Liam jabbers on, starting to play with his large hands which lie on the table nervously, “So I thought that maybe you had just made up the dragons to instigate fear in people’s hearts. That maybe you really don't have dragons, it's all really just a myth, that maybe-”  
  
“You know nothing, _Snow_ ,” Zayn says in an acidic voice that’s meant to sting.

The effect is immediate; the speck of light in Liam’s eyes puffs out and Loki lets out a small whimper from below. The look Liam gives Zayn is one of mortification; like he hadn’t expected Zayn to make a remark on his bastardy and Zayn had let him down by doing so. It’s strange though, how Zayn had thought trying to embarrass Liam would make him feel better for being doubted about his dragons and how it is doing the exact opposite; he feels worse, he feels a hundred times worse.

“I am sorry,” he apologizes when Liam says nothing and goes back to staring at his large hands, “I didn’t mean to sound so condescending.”

“Yes, but you did,” Liam snorts, looking up at him, “Everyone does, and you don’t have to try to be different.”

“Liam I-,” he starts, the guilt pooling in his stomach because there is a shadow in Liam’s eyes that he doesn’t know how to get rid of.

“No please, don’t apologize again,” Liam stops him, “There is no need to. I was given that surname because I _am_ a bastard. Even if I was Liam Stark, it won’t change that fact. After twenty years of being treated differently, I’ve come to accept who I am; you really did not offend me. I don’t mind being called what I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Liam begins to get up, shaking his head in what looks like displeasure but Zayn’s hand jumps out of his lap and it’s on Liam’s forearm before he can even properly recognize what he’s doing, “Liam, _please_. Sit. Down.”

With round eyes, Liam first glances at Zayn’s hand clutching his arm and then looks at Zayn, as he lowers himself down into his brown chair again. He’s staring at Zayn as if he’s witnessed a miracle or something and then he clears his throat.

Flustered, Zayn lets go off his arm which he was still gripping onto, “I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Liam says, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Zayn for one second which if anything, is strangely overwhelming.

“Trust me,” he says, his hands back in his lap squirming around each other, “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t think of you as someone below me, I mean- I don’t think of you as different- actually you are different but in a good way. Unique different, you know what I am saying?”

He’s straight on babbling right now, his heart is racing in his chest and he doesn’t know what’s taken control over him – doesn’t know why he is being so effected by Liam when he should be infuriated at him – but Liam’s still staring at him, not even blinking and somehow that’s reason enough for him to carry on.

“If I think anything of you, after all that I’ve been told, it’s only how decent you are. And how strong. It’s how you don’t need to be called a Stark to get your homeland back or to find your siblings,” he says, “I haven’t met a lot of people like you Liam Snow, I haven’t met someone so honest and courageous, so uninfluenced by the unjust world around them. _So_ brave.”

“How can you say all that about me when you barely even know me?” Liam asks, his eyes softer and lighter than before.

“I am only really deducing,” Zayn smiles, and for the love of God he doesn’t know why he smiles, it’s not what he usually does around people, “By everything I’ve learned about you overnight.”

“What have you learned about me overnight?” Liam asks.

“Well, definitely not that you are so inquisitive,” Zayn says.

His heart lightens massively when Liam grins at that, “Well, I am. Inquisitive.”

“Unfortunate for you,” Zayn says, “I am reticent.”

“What’s that?” Liam asks, and then turns a shade of pink, “I mean I know wha-.”

“I am private.”

“Oh,” Liam says, smirking right after, “You weren’t exactly being _reticent_ a few moments ago.”

His cheeks burn and he quickly shifts his eyes from Liam to Loki who has changed his position; his head lying on Zayn’s feet, his tail coiled around Liam’s leg. He doesn’t say a word to Liam, because he doesn’t know how to say _‘you were looking at me and I couldn’t stop myself’_ without sounding stupid. He hears Liam whisper something though, something that sounds like an ‘ _ow_ ’ and so he turns his gaze back to Liam, to find him staring at him with his mouth ajar.

“What did you say?” Zayn asks him.

“Nothing,” Liam replies, shaking his head again, blinking rapidly, like Zayn had just caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be caught doing, “I just realized I had to go visit my men, see if they need anything, inform them of your decision, send a raven back to Castle Black- I really have a lot to do, so I should get going.”

“Yes, yes you should,” Zayn says, watching Liam get up, “We start training tomorrow, you should get some rest anyway.”

“Yes,” Liam says, “See you later, Your Majesty.”

“If we are going to be conquering the continent together, you just might as well call me Zayn,” he says, his eyes on Loki instead of on Liam. Because he knows Liam will smile at him and he can’t watch that without feeling his heart race.

“As you wish,” Liam says, “ _Zayn_.”

His lips threaten to curve upwards and he bites the inside of his cheek to prevent that, just as Loki stands up on his feet and proceeds to rest his head on Zayn’s lap, letting out a soft whimper.

“He wants you to pet his head,” Liam chuckles from above, and then Zayn lets himself smile, caressing the white, unusually large direwolf-head on his lap, “I can’t believe he likes you. He literally likes no one.”

If possible, that makes him smile even wider, “I am glad he likes me.”

“I am too,” Liam says, and Zayn’s heart picks up speed again, “You can keep Loki here if you want, I’ll get him back when I return. Also, he kind of wants to stay.”

“How do you know that?” Zayn asks, his hands still buried in white fur.

“I can feel it,” Liam says, and Zayn looks up at him confused, “Direwolves; they bond themselves with their owners. I have had Loki since he was a little pup; I have been connected to him since he didn’t even know how to hunt. I know what he’s feeling or what he wants, what he sees. At times I can feel and see it too. We can literally get into each other’s heads. Direwolves are as magical as dragons, as it turns out.”

Now Zayn didn’t know that, it is kind of how he feels with his dragons. Ever since he has locked them up, a part of him has been uneasy and largely concerned at all times. When he is with his dragons, he feels powerful and invincible like nothing can beat him or hurt him. He wonders if he can get inside Drogon’s head too, like Liam can do with Loki.

“How does he feel now?” he asks Liam.

“He’s happy,” Liam smiles at him.

“Then let him stay,” he says.

“Alright,” Liam turns around and remarks, “He’ll keep you safe.”

Before Zayn can reply Liam is gone, leaving a heartfelt chuckle behind to echo in the room.

—-

It’s almost midnight when he makes his way to Zayn’s chambers again. He has had a long weary day; checking up on all his soldiers, spreading the message among them and finding his way around Meereen, even after a long bath and getting into soft cotton clothes, he still feels extremely tired. Running a hand through his wet unkempt hair, trying to slick them back to keep them from falling all over the place, he knocks on the iron door in front of him. He has to wait for only a moment, before the door is opened and Harry’s face peeks out.

“Lord Snow is here!” he says loudly, announcing his arrival, opening the door wide and moving aside to let Liam in, “The King is in the bedroom, you can meet him there.”

Instantly, Liam becomes very conscious of himself. He stares at Harry for a minute, wrapping his head around the word ‘bedroom’, and then quickly shakes away the image forming in his head before it can take full form. He swallows the lump in his throat before following the direction Harry’s finger is pointing him to. He walks past the long table, where he was sitting with Zayn just in the morning, climbs three steps and then walks past the dark green curtains, covered in golden embroidery, and an entirely different setting meets his eyes.

The room is not exactly grand, just big enough for at most two or three people. It’s lit with candles; hung on walls, held by iron holders, creating an orange-ish hue all around him. There is a sofa, green and gold, lying at the foot of the bed. The bed. That stands against the widest wall is the most lavish thing in the room; thick canopy made of the same material as the curtains hanging over it. And on the bed, wrapped around himself lies Loki, asleep and snoring, camouflaged due to the white, spotless sheets.

“He went to sleep an hour ago,” a voice says and for the first time Liam’s eyes find Zayn, standing in front of a dresser attached to a mirror, which reflects the back of Zayn’s head and a small fraction of Liam’s own face, “I didn’t wake him up because he looked so comfortable.”

“Sorry, if he was of any trouble,” Liam says, because that’s the only thing he can come up with right now; Zayn is clad in a long green silk robe, a golden silk belt holding it together at the waist and something tells Liam that’s the only thing Zayn’s wearing.

“He wasn’t,” Zayn smiles at Loki’s sleeping form, “Actually he helped me take my mind off things.”

“What things?” Liam asks, without even realizing, he’s just spitting words out now, his senses too busy in trying to prevent his brain from coming up with ridiculous thoughts regarding the veins running down Zayn’s neck, so prominent.

“Things,” Zayn presses his lips.

“Anyway- uh, I came to get Loki back, so I’ll,” Liam tries to word, moving towards the bed, looking anywhere but at Zayn, “Just wake him up and yes. Take him back.”

“Or you could just pick him up in the morning,” Zayn says, as he rubs in chin, in uncertainty, the dorsal of his left hand covered in a blank ink design that extends all the way up to his wrist, “Let him sleep. He did spend the day growling down in the Hall at all the people who came in with their requests today, after all. And Harry fed him too, apparently Niall had told him how to.”

“Right,” Liam says, pressing the palm of his hand at the back of his neck, since he doesn’t know what else to do with it, “I’ll come fetch him in the morning then. I’ll see you- I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you for letting him stay,” Zayn says, before he can even turn around to leave.

“There’s no need,” Liam looks at him, “He wanted to stay.”

“Yes but-”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of Zayn’s response because an anxious Harry rushes into the bedroom, trying to catch his breath, halting an inch in front of the curtains.

“ _Khal_ ,” Harry says to Zayn, and Liam makes a mental note to find out later what that means, why Harry keeps calling Zayn that, “There is an intruder. In the castle. Lannister. Louis Lannister. Downstairs, sword out, bleeding and demanding to see you.”

“What is Lord Louis doing here?” Liam asks, as a look of blatant confusion covers Zayn’s face.

“How would I know?” Harry says, in between breaths, “I just ran all the way here to get you,” he looks at Zayn, “The Unsullied have surrounded him and he says he’ll take all of them down if that is what it takes for him to meet you.”

“Let’s see what he wants then,” Zayn says, and he tightens the golden belt around his waist, and walks out of the room in the manner of a King that was nowhere present in him a few seconds ago.

Liam follows him out, reaching for his sword and only realizing just now how he doesn’t have it on him; he had left it down in his room. He grunts irritably, as he follows Zayn down the marble staircase, Harry skipping behind him, and onto the platform in the Hall where indeed, about eleven of the Unsullied have formed a ring around a man with their swords out. The man has a mere spear in his hand, a brown scarf wrapped around his head, and is dressed in muddy rags, torn at places displaying open wounds and gashes. He doesn’t look as grand as one would expect a Lannister to look. At first sight nobody would even believe him to be one, but Liam would recognize this man anywhere; the short height, the sharp features, the vigilant body, trained to defeat. Louis Lannister; the man who taught him how not to let the world’s opinion fashion your life, to wear his bastard name like an armor instead of like a wound.

“What are you doing here, Lord Louis?” he asks, descending a few steps down the platform, leaving Zayn standing above as Harry quickly jogs down the steps, to halt at the very bottom one.

Louis looks up at him, from where he was staring precariously at a soldier, his spear ready to strike. He watches as Louis’ azure eyes travel from him to Zayn where they stay fixed for a few seconds before coming back to him.

“I could ask you the same thing, Lord Snow,” Louis says, “But then, I really don’t care.”

“What do you want?” Zayn speaks from behind him, his voice loud and aggressive, “And how did you get in here? Who allowed you inside?”

“Actually no one was really allowing me, so I allowed myself in,” Louis says, spear still aimed at one of the soldiers but his posture relaxed now, as if he isn’t really expecting anyone to attack, “I took down some of the soldiers on the way up there, they are quite tough I must say. But I promise no one is dead, just injured or unconscious. But in my defense, they weren’t exactly polite either.”

Using his free hand, Louis points to the open wounds that peek out from under his bloody clothes.

“So I had to defend myself,” Louis continues, “I kind of have to see the Targaryen boy everyone is talking about, the dragon king. Where can I find him?”

“You are looking at him,” Zayn says.

“Oh,” Louis’ eyes actually go round, as he lowers his spear and stares up at Zayn for a bit too long, way too long if you ask Liam, “So you are the Father of Dragons, the Targaryen boy everyone talks about? They don’t lie; you are actually handsomer than anyone I have ever seen, modest and simple, yet so elegant. Impressive.”

“Why are you so desperate,” Liam says, trying not to sound harsh but he needs Louis to stop staring at Zayn with his mouth agape like that, “To meet the King?”

“You are planning on throwing my family off the Iron Throne,” Louis says, wiping blood off his forehead, only making more of a mess there with his muddy sleeve, “And conquer Kings Landing, I presume. So I am here to aid you, I want to help you take the Iron Throne.”

Silence prevails as Liam stares at Louis, confused. Apparently, Zayn has the same problem because he breaks the silence with, “You want to help me, defeat your own family and take the entire kingdom from them?”

“Yes,” Louis gives a curt nod, “Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?”

“Are you- why? Why would you want to help me?” Zayn inquires.

“In exchange for protection,” Louis says with no hesitance.

“Protection?”

“Yes, you see, I have a price on my head, whoever brings my head to my elder sister will become a rich man,” Louis says.

“And why does your sister want your head?”

“Well, let’s see, I am accused of poisoning my nephew, the "king", on his wedding day. Of strangling a whore in my father’s bed and shooting said father dead with a crossbow, putting an arrow right through his chest,” Louis counts on his fingers before looking up at Zayn, “But I swear on my life, trust me. I did not poison my nephew. Which is literally the only thing on the list that I regret.”

“You are a monster,” Harry says, before Zayn can reply.

“It’s too soon to jump onto judgments isn’t it, kid?” Louis says, raising his eyebrows at Harry, “You don’t even know everything in detail yet.”

“I don’t want to know everything in detail,” Harry says, “And I am not a kid.”

“Really, now?” Louis asks, “Have you escaped a prison cell and travelled a hundred miles on a trading ship, closed up in a fucking box for five fucking days?”

“No,” Harry says.

“Then you are a kid,” Louis smirks, “Kid.”

Liam is expecting for Harry to respond with a clever remark but Harry doesn’t.

“Anyway, I am not here to fight,” Louis says, looking up at Zayn again, “Here you go.” He drops the spear at his feet, “Fuck, that’s not even mine; I stole it from one of your men. I am unarmed and defenseless. I just need you to help me keep my head on my body and I’ll be forever in debt to you. And Lannisters always pay their debts. I promise I’ll either help you get Kings Landing or die trying.”

“You killed your father and a woman,” Zayn says, “How do you expect me to trust you when you have betrayed your own family?”

“Betrayed would be an exaggeration really,” Louis rolls his eyes; “You would have to know my family to understand why I say that. In simple terms, my loyalty is for those who prove themselves worthy. And since I am still standing here, alive, because you haven’t put a sword in my gut or sent my handsome little head to my sister, you have already earned it.”

“Until you are in Meereen, in my city, I promise you protection,” Zayn declares, “My guards will keep a watch over you until I call for you again. And if you dare cross me-”

“You don’t have to finish that sentence,” Louis says, “There’s already a death sentence on my head, I don’t want to add to the burden. I will not betray you, you have my word.”

“That settles it then,” Zayn says, “Harry, check him for weapons. You all may lower your swords.”

Harry moves towards Louis, in measured steps just as the Unsullied around Louis retrieve their swords. Liam watches as Harry roams his hands around Louis’ waist, above his chest and down his legs as Louis tries not to wince when Harry presses too hard on a wound, probably intentionally.

“He is unarmed,” Harry turns to Zayn, “No weapons. And he is heavily wounded, still losing blood.”

“Take him to the guest chambers,” Zayn orders, “Tend to the wounds. Give him clothes and food if he wants-”

“Oh, I want,” Louis says, “All of these things, I want. I am sorry but I have been through hell this past week.”

“Harry will take care of everything you need, he knows what to do,” Zayn says, “I welcome you to Meereen, Louis Lannister.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Louis bows in front of Zayn for the first time since his abrupt arrival and then exits with Harry, down to the guest chambers.

—-

The room is nothing like the ones they have at the Red Keep, but it’s large enough for him. He sits on a chair, next to an aging ebony table, in nothing but a white cotton cloth tied around his waist as he waits for Harry who had disappeared off somewhere, without an explanation, after inspecting his wounds. Minutes pass in silence, as he observes the many marks on his body; his arms are covered in bruises, a wound right below his belly button, he can feel one behind his neck, dripping with sticky wetness and he doesn’t want to look at his face right now. He knows it would be a haphazardly painted canvas of red and brown.

When he hears footsteps, he sighs in relief, Harry coming in with a steaming bowl of water in his hand, which he places on the table.

“I’ll have to clean your wounds before you can take a bath,” Harry tells him.

“Alright,” he says.

“I have asked the cook to bring you food too,” Harry says, “It’ll be here right after you’ve bathed and clothed.”

“Sure.”

He watches as Harry soaks a towel in the water and twists it. Harry then takes his hand and places the wet towel on it. Louis watches as Harry cleans under his fingernails; frozen blood and mud, and slides the wet cloth up towards his elbow.

“Shit, fuck,” he grumbles in pain as Harry dabs on the deep slash on his forearm, “Be careful, kid.”

“Call me kid one more time,” Harry mutters solemnly, loud enough for him to hear.

“Kid.”

Harry presses the cloth right above the opening of his wound, hard. And it stings like hell.

“Ow!” Louis shrieks, “Fuck you.”

“Thank you is what you should be saying,” Harry says, expressionless.

“For what exactly? Putting me through pain?”

Harry soaks the cloth in more hot water that lies on the table in bowl, before placing it on his bicep above a deep gash, “For taking care of you.”

“Like you would do it if your King hadn’t told you to,” Louis snorts.

“I probably would,” Harry counters, “I am not as heartless as you are.”

Normally, Louis doesn’t really care when people make remarks like those about him but there is something about the curly haired boy wiping at his bicep with an intent look on his face that wants him to actually give an explanation. To actually clear his name from under the ‘cruel and heartless’ list that Harry has in mind.

“Yes, I killed my own father,” he says, “But I am not as much of a monster as you think I am.”

“But you are still a monster,” Harry says, now removing blood off his shoulder. He’s standing too close to him, so close that Louis can see the blemishes on his face. On his forehead, under his emerald eyes.

“Isn’t everyone?” Louis asks.

“I am not,” Harry says, going back to wet the towel in the bowl, before shifting to the other side, taking Louis’ right bicep in his large hand.

“Yeah, because you are just a kid,” Louis says.

He is expecting another hard press on one of his injuries, even shuts his eyes off ready for it but Harry doesn’t make him suffer this time. Instead, he throws him off with, “I’d rather be a kid than murder my own father.”

Louis opens his eyes at that, heart constricting in his chest, and says, “I was in love.”

The cloth pauses on his shoulder for a second, before sliding gently all the way back to his neck, softly dabbing on the cut. He waits Harry to say something, to ask him something but when Harry doesn’t, he just decides to continue. To tell his story for the first time to someone who he barely even knows, to someone who will probably actually listen.

“El. Brown eyes, very pretty. I met her at a brothel,” Louis starts, “She was a whore and my sister found out. She told on me, told my father. My father, who has despised me since I was born, because I didn’t have brown hair instead of golden like my siblings. And when I grew up, I wasn’t as tall as them.”

“You are tall enough,” Harry says, wiping tenderly between his shoulder blades.

Louis laughs dryly, “Not for them. I am only three or four inches shorter than my twin siblings and that was reason enough for my father to call me ‘The Dwarf Son’. My siblings using the title to make fun of me. I used to laugh with them, cackle like a maniac, with anybody who would use that term and laugh right after. But inside, it hurt like a bitch.”

Harry comes in front of him again, signaling him to open his legs. He sinks down in front of him, between the V of his legs, soaks the cloth again, and starts to clean the deep scratch below his belly button. He focuses his eyes on Harry’s forehead, painted with lines as the boy rubs on his injury.

“But then I accepted it,” he resumes, “I accepted who I was, ‘The Dwarf’, the short Lannister. My height didn’t matter to me because I was good with a sword. I was brilliant. I could take down men five times larger than me. I was fine. I had grown immune to my father’s displeasure with me, did not care if my siblings loathed me. But then I fell in love with a boy. Stan. My brother’s squire, actually. My father found out and he executed him.”

Harry’s head jerks up to look at him in the eyes, horror struck, “What?!”

“Yes,” Louis cracks a sad smile, “He had him beheaded. Because I loved him.”

“That is- that is-”

“There is no word to describe it.”

Harry shakes his head in disbelief, standing up again, soaking the cloth, and hooking a finger under Louis’ chin, tilting his head upwards, blue eyes meeting green again.

“Then El happened, after years of me trying to avoid love, I met her,” Louis says, Harry wipes at his forehead but doesn’t break eye contact, “I fell for her, it was hard not to. But when my father found out he warned me. Gave me a choice to let her go, send her far away or have her burnt alive. So I told her to leave. But she wouldn’t. She was a lioness, perfect for me. So perfect that I knew if I was ever going to marry someone, it would be her. I was so sure I even gave her the locket that my mother put around my neck before she died after giving birth to me; it had a golden lion’s head dangling on it. The only thing I had of my mother,” Louis pauses for a minute, “Anyway, El was stubborn. She said she didn’t care, she would stay, and that my father was probably just bluffing. But I knew he wasn’t. I couldn’t let her die. So I told her I didn’t love her, she was nothing but a whore to me. And I broke her heart to drive her away.”

“Then what happened?” Harry asks in a low voice, he is done wiping Louis’ face clean but he hasn’t taken his hand away from below his chin, the other one rested gently on his left cheek.

“Then someone poisoned my nephew at his wedding, and they all blamed me just because I didn’t get along with that evil boy very well,” Louis says, “I didn’t do it, and my father knew. My brother knew and yes, he has a hard heart but he believed in me. But even my brother couldn’t convince my sister who forced my father to hold a trial. And because she is the golden daughter, he announced my trial. Almost the entire city came, they swore at me for murdering their young king. I didn’t care. My brother had promised he’d save me from imprisonment, and I believed him.”

“He didn’t save you?” Harry asks, eyes solemn and sincere, “He lied?”

“Actually, I never got to find out,” he confides, “Because my sister paid El to testify against me. El came in, stood in the witness box right in front of me, and told the entire city how I had indeed poisoned my nephew. All the while, looking straight into my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” Harry whispers, and he lets go off the cloth completely, pressing his palms to Louis’ cheeks, holding his face, so gently, as if it might break and looking at the emotions flying about in Harry’s eyes, Louis thinks it just might.

“I was imprisoned, my sister wanted me executed,” Louis says, “But my brother helped me escape. So yes, he did keep his promise. Before I escaped however, I went to my father’s room. I don’t know why, but I wanted to see him one last time. Just see him from afar. But something else was in store for me.”

“You found El in your father’s bed?” Harry whispers.

“Naked,” he confirms, “In his sheets.”

“Louis..”

“So I strangled her,” he states, “With the lion locket around her neck.”

A tear streams down Harry’s face, his eyes glisten, the reflection of the candle flame flickering in them, and Louis wants to touch his face but he feels drained of all energy so he keeps his hands on his thighs.

“And then I found my father on the balcony, a cup of wine in his hand, celebrating his victory, probably celebrating sex with the woman I loved,” he says, “So I shot him with his own crossbow. And then I ran out of there, paid a boy to shut me up in a box and get me loaded onto the first cargo ship in view. And now, here I am. With my head still on my body.”

Harry stays silent, still holding Louis’ face in his large, surprisingly soft hands.

“So tell me Harry,” he asks, swallowing, “Do I still look like a monster to you?”

“No,” Harry says, “You look broken to me.”

“Broken,” he chuckles, amused.

“Not funny,” Harry says.

“I can’t be broken,” he says, “Broken people aren’t strong.”

“No, they aren’t,” Harry says, “They are stronger.”

“You think I am strong?”

“I think you managed to escape from right under your evil sister’s nose, you killed your father in his own room, and you made your way here shut up in a box for god knows how many days,” Harry says, “I think ‘stronger’ is an understatement for a man like you.”

His heart swells up in his chest, the best feeling he has had since he saw his father fall on his knees, bleeding out life.

“Thank you Harry,” he says, genuinely grateful.

“I don’t want a thank you now,” Harry says, giving him a half-smile before he moves back, taking his hands off Louis’ face and bending to pick the towel from the ground.

“Alright, I take it back,” Louis says, watching Harry wash the towel in the water, nibbling on his bottom lip. Then after a minute of just gazing at Harry, he asks, “Have you ever fallen in love, kid?”

“No,” Harry replies, not even surprised at the sudden personal question.

“Good for you,” he says, “You are lucky.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry turns around to look at him.

“Didn’t you just hear what that whore did to me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows because Harry can’t be serious.

“I did.”

“And you got nothing from it?”

“I did.”

“Well…?”

“Love makes you fearless,” Harry says, “That is what I got from your story.”

“What?”

“All your life, you couldn’t step up to your father,” Harry says, his gaze intense, “But the moment you found the woman you loved in his bed, you suddenly had the strength to kill him.”

“I did it because I was angry,” he objects, “At him and at her.”

“Was that the only time you got angry at him?” Harry asks, “Never before?”

He wants to say ‘yes’ but he knows that would be a lie; he had loathed his father from the moment his father had started to treat him differently than his siblings. From the moment his father had started insulting him because of his height in front of his officials and friends. He had been angry at his father his whole life.

“Exactly,” Harry says, “That is what I am saying. The pain caused by love; it made you so fearless, you put an arrow through your father’s chest fully aware of what would happen to you if you got caught, you knew the punishment, you knew what would come next and yet. Nothing stopped you. You didn’t care because you weren’t afraid.”

Louis keeps his silence, in awe of everything Harry is saying. How Harry is making him look at himself, in a different light; a light he doesn’t think he deserves to stand under.

“My father sold me to a Master as a slave when I was only eight, ten years of my life I spent doing things for my Master, things that I detested. That man was pathetic to me, until Zay- the King saved me,” Harry tells him, looking straight into his eyes, “I hated my father for it, I still do. But would I go against him? No, I won’t. But would I do it if he were to sell someone I loved instead of me? Yes. Then I would probably do the same thing you did. So Lord Louis, I might be a kid, but we are not really that different.”

“You are exceptional,” Louis says, his mouth dry all of a sudden, “I haven’t met many like you.”

“You forgot putting the ‘kid’ at the end of that,” Harry flashes a grin his way, turning away again to pick up the water bowl.

“So you like it when I call you that?” he asks, almost grinning.

“Well, I have changed my opinions about a few things,” Harry shrugs, “Including you.”

“Well, I still think what I did of you the moment I saw you,” Louis admits.

“What was that?”

“A fierce kid, something hidden in your eyes, waiting to be discovered; burning.”

Harry’s lips curve into a smile and he turns away to hide it, “It’s time you took a bath, I’ll go check on your food.”

And he leaves Louis, taking the towel and bowl with him, leaving a calm atmosphere behind and thoughts circling Louis’ mind. Good thoughts, happy thoughts; the kind he hasn’t had in ages. It feels like he has just gotten a warm hug, after infinite years of being stranded on a desert alone.

—-

Coming back into his bedroom, he sighs exasperatedly, pressing his forehead with his fingers in disbelief. He cannot really wrap his head around what just happened with Louis, he cannot believe a Lannister is not only in his kingdom, but is also offering to help him. He had to keep up his composure back at the Hall but he is actually amazed at how things are coming together. He has a Lannister on his side now, someone who can reveal secrets of the enemy, uncover their weaknesses. The chances of him getting his family’s throne back keep increasing.  
  
Obviously, it is hard to trust a Lannister. They aren’t exactly known to be just rulers. The last king, an eighteen year old boy, had done works of pure evil, news of which had spread throughout the entire continent of Westeros. He had beheaded Liam’s father. And that alone is reason enough for him to doubt every Lannister in existence. But that is why he had sent Harry with Louis, that is why he has ordered Harry to keep a close eye on him; stick with him if he steps out of the Pyramid, always keep an eye on the guards outside his room. Meanwhile, he is going to work with Louis, at least until he finds out anything suspicious regarding Louis. If, by any chance, Louis is here to serve as a spy for his family and stab him in the back, the dragons’ pit is where he is going to throw Louis’ body. So either way, Louis, traitor or not, wouldn’t be able to hurt his chances of conquering Kings Landing. Louis is either going to have to stay loyal, or he is going to have to burn in hell.  
  
Walking over to the table, he picks up the pitcher, pouring himself a glass of water. Soft snores surround him, the direwolf still fast asleep in his bed, covering an entire half of it. He smiles at Loki, wonders if Liam sleeps like this too. Curled up, snoring softly into his arm, looking so massive yet so harmless, so precious. Then wonders why he even cares about how Liam looks like while he sleeps. If he likes holding something in his arm, close to him, pressed against hi- he groans, quickly downing the glass of water because suddenly he feels like he hasn’t had any in ages.  
  
A familiar sound thankfully disturbs his train of thought, and his head jerks towards the curtains instantly.  
  
“Harry?” he calls out, because who else would come into his room after midnight.  
  
Then there is a loud grunt, a soft roar and Zayn’s heart freezes in his chest as he rushes past the curtains towards the balcony. An enormous mass of black scales, bright red eyes as fiery as hellfire, veined wings spread wide casting a colossal shadow encompassing everything under their midst; a dragon sits with his four coal colored claws curved firmly around the gold balcony railing.  
  
“Drogon,” he whispers, his heart filled up to the hilt with emotion; it feels like months since he last saw his baby.  
  
The dragon keeps staring at him, his red eyes round, concave pupils focused on his figure. He moves forward, takes small steps towards Drogon. He doesn't want to frighten his dragon, doesn't want him to fly away again. He wants him to stay, wants to caress the top of his spiky head and make him croon like he used to before. He halts abruptly, his heart almost skipping a beat when Drogon moves.  
  
Grunting and breathing loudly, the gigantic beast lowers his head towards Zayn, leans in slowly towards his father. Zayn doesn't move a bit, remains rooted to the spot. Fear grips his heart, as he gradually lifts his arm, hand and fingers outstretched, waiting for Drogon to lean a bit more, so that his hand comes in contact with the reptile’s jaw. So that he can touch him, feel the leathery skin under his palm.  
  
Drogon growls deep in his throat, eyes shifting from Zayn’s hand to his face in a quick flash, but he does not lean in anymore. So Zayn does. Ever so slightly, he moves his hand forward by just an inch; his fingers an inch or two away from Drogon’s face, he can feel the waves of his breath on his hand, can feel the intense heat the dragon is radiating. Moves his hand forward a bit more, his middle finger barely touches the front of Drogon’s face and then there is nothing underneath his touch.  
  
Wind hits his face, as the dragon flaps his wings wildly, leaving the railing and turning around, away from him. The sight of Drogon’s face is replaced by a sight of his serpentine back, red scales running from the back of his neck to the end of his sharp tail, standing bright amongst the black that surrounds them. The dragon roars; so loud and thunderous, the stars seem to tremble. Wide wings slice through the sky, as Drogon disappears into the blackness of the night, and Zayn just stands there helpless; watching him grow smaller and smaller. His hand falling down, dejected, craving his dragon’s touch. His heart sinking in his chest so swiftly, it hurts everywhere.

-

There’s weariness in his eyes, as he tries to keep them open during the meeting he has called for. Staying awake almost all night hadn’t been a great idea, but it wasn’t really his fault if his eyes refused to rest. Tension kept him awake, anxiety regarding Drogon. And he had sent a silent ‘thanks’ to Liam for leaving Loki behind, because if there was one thing that had comforted him last night, it was the direwolf. Who had woken up somewhere during Zayn’s silent sniffing into the pillow, and had shifted closer to him, snuggling against his stomach, wrapping his bushy tail around one of Zayn’s thighs, letting Zayn rest his cheek on the back of his neck, against smooth white fur. Loki hadn’t been the solution to his problem, but he had made him feel less alone, made him fall asleep for the few hours that he did.

“-and that is how I know, how my nephew wasn’t a Baratheon but a Lannister. Son of my twin brother and sister,” Louis is telling them. Today he looks way better than yesterday, having changed into a crimson tunic, embroidered with gold, white sleeves, multiple brown leather belts going around his waist.

“I cannot believe this,” Liam says, from where he is sitting in front of Louis, in clothes similar to yesterdays, the grey a bit darker, his sword lying on the long table between them.

“Well, it’s better if you don’t really,” Louis says, “Because it’s absolutely disgusting. I just relish in the fact that they are more fucked up than I am.”

“But I don’t see the link here,” Liam says, “How does this information help us defeat them?”

“It doesn’t,” Louis says casually, “I was just telling you that for amusement while Your Majesty took a short break.”

They both turn their heads to him, and he instantly opens his mouth to speak, he doesn’t want them to notice how wretched he feels, “I thought we had already discussed what we had to. We start training from tomorrow; I will have the fighting pits open by then. The Unsullied will look over the people volunteering to fight, picking out those who are ready to join the army and training those who aren’t and still want to take part. Lord Loui-”

“Louis is fine,” Louis says, “Since we are friends now.”

“Louis,” he continues, “You and Ser Winston need to find a convenient route from Essos to Westeros, through which our battle ships can pass easily and if by any chance, the Lannisters attack us in sea, we need to be prepared for that. So you are in charge of the precautions we would have to take. You have two days to come up with the perfect route.”

“Alright, Zayn,” Louis nods his head, smirking when he uses his name instead of a royal title.

“I don’t think I ever allowed you to use my name,” he says, not really caring but nobody has ever dared use his name without his permission before this.

“Well, you didn’t protest when I said we are friends,” Louis says, “So using each other’s first names was a given. But if you mind-”

“I don’t. You can call me by name. Anyway, Harry,” he summons Harry who is standing right behind him, on his left, “I need you to get me numbers. Consult the soldiers; check how many of The Unsullied we have at the moment. How many battle ships, other transport and weaponry are in store, how much is required? Also, check with Liam here, include the number of his men and their weapons, whatever they have brought with them. I need a list in two days, maximum. Do you understand?”

“Yes, _Khal_ ,” Harry says, obediently.

“As for you Liam,” he says, “You’ll be there with me tomorrow, when we open the fighting pits. Right now, you should go with Harry, help him out with the stuff about your army and all.”

“Sure,” Liam nods at him, passing him a smile to which he doesn’t respond because he knows Louis is watching.

“And what will you do in the meanwhile?” Louis asks.

“That,” he says, shortly, “Is none of your concern.”

“I was just curious,” Louis says, “But then, I have been curious about a lot of things since I have come here. For example, your dragons. I was out all morning, didn’t see any.”

“They aren’t always flying around,” Zayn says, there is a bitter taste in his mouth again and his head aches with the memories of last night; Drogon’s ferocious eyes burning into his mind.

“Really?” Louis asks, “Then what are they doing? Where are they?”

“Again, none of your concern.”

“You don’t have them do you? That entire story about you emerging from the fire, unburnt, with three small dragons clinging to you is just a myth then?”

He fists his hands in his lap, the many silver rings on them hurting his knuckles, to keep himself from punching Louis’ face.

“It’s not a myth,” Liam states, “I have seen them, they are real.”

Louis looks at Liam at the same time he does. Louis, in surprise and he, in disbelief; why is Liam lying for him?

“You have?” Louis asks,

“Yes, they are majestic,” Liam doesn’t glance at him once, just stares straight into Louis’ eyes boldly, “Everything they say about them is true.”

“And there are three of them?” Louis is fascinated.

“Yes,” Liam says, “There is Drogon, Hazzael and Arien.”

And then Liam glances at him, as if to make sure he got the names right. Zayn nods slightly at him, and watches as the left side of Liam’s lips curve upwards.

“Wow,” Louis says, sinking back in his seat, “I am sorry for the skepticism Zayn, but you can’t blame me. I was three when I was told that dragons were extinct, they didn’t exist anymore. So it’s hard for me to believe, now like twenty years later, that they do.”

“I don’t blame you,” Zayn says, “You aren’t the first person who has raised questions; nobody believes they are real until they see them.”

“I can’t wait to see them,” Louis says, expectantly.

“Soon, you will,” he promises, “Now its better if you get to work, we need to be efficient and there is no time to waste.”

“Yes, yes, I was about to leave,” Louis gets up, turning to Harry, “Will you take me to Ser Winston, kid?”

Harry looks at him for permission and he nods in the affirmative. He waits for Louis and Harry to leave, before he turns to Liam who is twisting the ring on his left index finger; thick, silver, a wolf head engraved on it.

“Why did you lie?” Zayn asks.

“When?” Liam asks, not looking up.

“To Louis, just now. About my dragons, I haven’t shown them to you.”

Liam stays silent for a moment, not playing with his ring anymore; his hands are curled around each other instead.

“I saw you were agitated,” Liam says, and then he looks up to meet his eyes, “And I couldn’t see you like that.”

That pressure in his chest is back; he can hear his heart beat pick speed and he has so many questions to ask his heart right now, “You didn’t have to lie.”

“I didn’t like the way Louis was questioning you,” Liam says, his voice a decibel higher, “Especially not when you’ve had such a rough night.”

“I didn’t have a rough night,” he says instantly, straightening up, trying to look active.

“Alright, if you say so,” Liam shrugs, going back to staring at his hands; it’s clear he doesn’t believe in what Zayn is saying.

“I really didn’t have a rough night,” he asserts.

Liam sighs, lifts his head up to meet Zayn’s eyes again, “I did tell you I am bonded to Loki, right? I did make it pretty clear that sometimes I have visions of what he sees, and I feel what he feels.”

There is a pause which Zayn uses to put two and two together in his mind and when he does, he curses under his breath, turning away from Liam in mortification. But his embarrassment is short-lived, for a large hand covers his on the table, making that touch the only thing he feels, and Liam says, “Everyone is allowed to be sad Zayn, you don’t have to keep it all to yourself. That will only hurt you more.”

Zayn looks at him, into his earnest eyes, dark brown, promising comfort. The hand that is around his spreads warmth all over his hand, shooting up to his arm; the kind of warmth he wants to sink in, melt into.

“What happened? What was bothering you?” Liam asks him.

“It was my dragon,” he says in a low voice, that he hopes for Liam to miss.

But he doesn’t, “What about your dragon?”

Zayn doesn’t say a thing, he doesn’t know if he should say anything at all. If he can tell Liam how he pretends to be this majestic ruler, the savior of a city and yet, he has no power over the one thing he is renowned for.

“You can tell me Zayn,” Liam says, tightening the grip around his hand, “You can trust me, I promise you I’ll help you. I’ll do everything I can.”

Liam’s eyes scan over his face, pleading to be let in, concerned for him. For _him_. He can’t recall the last time someone was this worried for him, when someone cared this much for him.

“I want to show you something, follow me,” he says, his mind making itself up for him.

Liam’s eyes widen for a second before he stands up too, not questioning anything at all. His hand slides out of Liam’s when he moves away, Liam proceeding to follow him, but it’s alright; the back of his left hand already seems to have memorized the map of Liam’s right palm.

—-

Zayn is clad in dark blue again; a slick sleeveless doublet, no shirt underneath, the tattoos on both his arms on display again, tattoos that Liam hasn’t been able to properly acquaint with yet. A silver belt goes around his waist today, holding no sword. Grey trousers and black sandals; straps of which wound around his feet like a web.

Liam doesn't know where Zayn is taking them but he isn't complaining even when his legs hurt from descending stairwell after stairwell. They are going down a fifth one now which is wider and airier than the others; so broad almost thirty people can go down at once. And unlike the others, it is lit with sunlight that falls in through the high circular holes on the walls that expand endlessly on either side of them.  
  
Compared to his heavy ones, Zayn’s steps are light and agile, and he keeps going ahead with practiced ease. Like he's been here before, like this is a part of his routine. He tries to keep up with Zayn, sometimes skipping over three steps when Zayn's not looking. He can feel sweat dripping down his back, he knows the hair that he had slicked back in the morning using some hair oil Niall had found, would soon fall down into a disorderly mess. But he doesn't care, because he is going to learn something new about Zayn today, and if that isn't worth all this, he doesn't know what is.  
  
Finally, after five whole flights of stairs, and a lot of heavy breathing, Zayn stops in front of a wide, round, black door. It's clearly made of iron, inscriptions that are gibberish to Liam carved all over it. A huge gold lock stares at them from below the gigantic lever. Zayn reaches for the single, huge key that is hanging on a nail buried in the left wall, and turns it in the lock which falls open with a loud clank. He watches as Zayn removes the lock, settles it down on the ground and then pushes the lever down.  
  
“Help me push the door open, it’s way too heavy for me,” Zayn says, glancing at him, and he instantly takes a step forward, placing his hands right on the lever, right next to Zayn’s.  
  
Pressing the lever down, he pulls with all his force realizing how Zayn wasn't wrong about the door being heavy. It takes a few moments for the door to budge, and when it does, it creaks so loudly, Liam wants to cover his ears with his palms. But his hands are on the lever, still pulling, until they have opened the door wide enough to enter. He peeks inside and he doesn't know what he was expecting but he does know it wasn't this; pitch black darkness. Absolute nothingness. Without a word though, he follows Zayn inside.  
  
“Stay close to me,” he hears Zayn order in a grave tone, “And stay behind me.”  
  
“Alright,” he says in a whisper, the smell of burnt flesh and raw meat filling his nostrils.  
  
He doesn’t know where to look so he looks straight ahead. A few moments later, he bumps into Zayn, who has apparently stopped short in front of him. The entire length of his front comes in contact with Zayn's back for just a fraction of a second before he steadies himself.  
  
“Liam, stay behind me,” Zayn says again, “No matter what alright?”  
  
“Yes, alright,” Liam says, now moving a little into Zayn, until he can feel Zayn's doublet touch his tunic.  
  
“Hazzael!” he startles when Zayn calls out loudly, “Arien!”  
  
Liam waits with bated breath, hearing nothing but the echo of Zayn’s voice booming eerily throughout the area, and the sound of heavy breathing; both his and Zayn’s.  
  
And then Zayn yells, his voice louder than before, relentless, “ _Dracarys_!”

A word Liam doesn’t understand but the effect of which makes his heart nearly jump out of his throat. Fire is all he sees in front of him, the orange and yellow ferocious. The creatures in front of him roar and shriek; the ground beneath his feet trembling, the sound deafening. They spit fire at Zayn, who stands shielding Liam with his arms open wide, just an inch away from the fire that threatens to touch him.  
  
“Move back,” he tells Liam, and Liam does, all the while his eyes on the unbelievably, giant dragons in front of him; one as green as the deep waters, silver scales glinting in the fire light, running from the top of his head all the way down to the length of his body, covering all his face. The other; as if sculpted with molten gold, a thunderstorm in his throat, spikes protruding from his back and head like knives.  
  
They keep the pit alight, roaring eagerly as they try to reach Zayn, only that there are iron collars around their necks, chained to the walls, restraining them from coming any closer. He watches as Zayn takes a step forward, puts his hand up, beckoning the green one with his fingers. But the dragons shoots out fire at Zayn, causing him to step back. Zayn tries the same with the other dragon, and he responds similarly, causing Zayn to take a few rapid steps backwards.  
  
After which, Zayn just stands there for a moment, his dark silhouette surrounded by a mass or orange and yellow heat, and then turns towards Liam, “Let’s go, it's of no use.”  
  
Not really understanding what Zayn means, Liam considers it best to just follow Zayn out the door, shock still heavy on him. The dragons go mad inside as they shut the door on them; the roars increasing, the vicious growls transforming into earnest cries. Zayn stays silent while he locks the door, which vibrates with the thunderous sounds being produced inside, with shivering hands. He places the key back on the wall, before turning to face Liam, light falling on his face, his eyes changing colours; a million shades of brown.

“They are real,” Liam says, once he finds his voice and the dragons quite down.

Zayn smiles at him, sadly, as he walks past him and starts to head back up.

“So that’s it?” he asks, following Zayn again, “That is all you wanted to show me?”

Zayn keeps climbing the steps.

“Zayn,” he calls out, fastening his pace to keep up with him, “Wait, is that it? Where is the third dragon? Where is Drogon?”

Zayn freezes and he nearly bumps into him again, nearly. Then Zayn turns around and stares down at him; face a mask of so many emotions, so hard to understand. Right in front of him, the man whose skin seems to have been sculpted with wax, lowers himself down, settling on a stair, his legs from a V, his elbows dig into his knees and he holds his head in his hands. Staring at the ground. He is breathing heavily; his exhales are all Liam hears as he lowers himself beside him, sitting next to him on the step.

Liam lets the silence linger, lets Zayn have his moment, while he just stares at Zayn’s right arm. There is a serpent's head peeking out from under his doublet, right on his shoulder and just below the serpent’s forked tongue, is another tattoo; a three-headed dragon that he has already seen imprinted on flags all around the Great Pyramid. He waits patiently, until Zayn straightens his head and turns to look at him. There isn’t much distance between them, Liam can almost make out every detail of Zayn’s face and every detail of it is flawless; skin stretched around his jaw, his cheekbones, bushy eyebrows canopying almond-shaped eyes, and lips looking so soft, Liam wants to trace them with his fingers. They sit side by side, but they are not touching and even when Liam wants to shift closer, he doesn’t because he can’t have his brain to cloud up right now.

“Drogon flew away,” Zayn starts, “One moment he had his head on my lap, the other moment, he was snarling at me and flying away. After he flew away, the locals complained he was destroying their crops, cattle. But it went too far when Drogon burned a child to death. And to prevent Hazzael and Arien from doing that, I chained them up here. In a pit. Nobody knows about this, except Harry, two of my guards and now, you.”

“So what happened last night?” he asks, the question still ablaze in his mind.

“Drogon came,” Zayn says, “He came up to my balcony. He called for me. But before I could even touch him, he turned his back on me again.”

“Oh,” he says, the muscles of his left arm urging to go around Zayn’s shoulders.

“And I don’t know where he is right now,” Zayn sighs, helplessly, “Or what damage he is causing. They call him a monster you know; The Black Beast. And I can’t even stop them because it’s true. He has become a monster; he killed a child Liam, he killed a child. If I don’t stop him, my city is going to turn into a burial ground. But I don’t know how to stop him. There is nothing I can do and that makes me a monster too.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he counters, not knowing what else to say.

“It does,” Zayn gives him a small smile, “They are my dragons. If they are monsters, so am I.”

“We will find Drogon,” he suggests, “We will find him and we will shut him up as well, don’t worry. I’ll help you do that.”

“You don’t understand,” Zayn shakes his head, “I don’t want to chain him. I want them to be free. And protect my city. I miss them, all of them, all the time. I want them out, I don’t want to give up on them- they are my children. And I have abandoned them because I don’t know what else to do, who to go for help. I can’t tell anyone about this without risking my dragons’ lives.”

“But you are telling me,” he says, in a low voice.

“Yes, I am,” Zayn gazes into his eyes, “Because you are the only one I am not afraid to tell.”

“Can I tell you what I think, then?”

Zayn keeps his eyes on him, not giving a response, just waiting.

“Locking them up isn’t the right thing to do,” he says, “If you’ll continue to neglect them like this, they will only grow more rebellious, more hateful towards you. And for how long are you planning to hide them, anyway? Sooner or later you will have to let them out and then they will create more havoc for you than they already have.”

“But that is exactly why it’s necessary to keep them locked them up,” Zayn says, exasperatedly, “I don’t want more people dying because of them.”

“Do you really want to keep them locked up inside forever, then?”

“Obviously, I don’t!”

“Then you’ll have to let them out,” he tries to explain, “People have already started doubting you, like Louis for example, he might have taken my word but do you think he will believe you actually have dragons until he sees them for himself? He wouldn’t Zayn, nobody would. How long do you think people will take your word for it? How long do you think they will believe in what they haven’t even seen?”

“But then what do I do?” Zayn asks him, “Let them free so they kill the people?”

“No,” he says, “Train them. Don’t abandon them, let them out and train them. Teach them how to fight a battle, how to protect Meereen, when to kill and when not to. Learn to control them again; you need to take their reigns back into your hands. Do it before more people start to raise questions because Zayn, a Dragon King without the dragons is not really a Dragon King.”

“You are right,” Zayn admits, “But I really don’t know how to train them. I didn't have someone to direct me, or even warn me that this would happen. I am clueless as to where to start, how to start.”  
  
“Books,” he recalls, “I used books to train Loki. My siblings and I, we found our direwolves as little pups. Our father said we could keep them if we took care of them and trained them ourselves. We used books to learn about them, we spent days and days in the library; bent over books, making notes on pieces of parchment, learning techniques. There is more information in books than you can think of.”  
  
“We do have a library,” Zayn says, his eyes lighting up, and the very next moment, he is on his feet, “It’s right here in the Pyramid. Nobody ever visits except the Maesters and scholars so it’s always almost vacant. Come on, come on, I will show you.”  
  
And Zayn is already on his way up, skipping steps while he ascends the stairs. This side of him; the eager, energized one where he is running off, thrilled to find a possible solution to save his dragons, Liam is witnessing for the first time. There is a new skip in Zayn’s steps, a kind of vigor taking over as he keeps running up. He jogs after Zayn, not caring if he is drenched in sweat, absolutely loving how Zayn keeps turning his head back from time to time to check if he is keeping up.  
  
-  
  
Slightly smaller than the one they had at Winterfell; the library is filled from left to right with thick books, stacked on rows and rows of dusty shelves. A table, rectangular and brown, stands in the middle, twelve chairs lined on either side and two placed at the ends, a row of candles going from the middle of one end to the other providing the only light in the room.  
  
“Now how do we find the book we want,” Zayn says from beside him, standing with his hands on his waist, bottom lip between teeth, while he scans the entire setting.  
  
“We search,” he states the obvious, making a dash towards the nearest book shelf, dusting off the spine of a thick book, “I don't think anyone has been here since ages, it will take us a lot of time to find a b-”  
  
“I found one!” Zayn exclaims, and he turns around to find Zayn with a blue thick covered book in his hand already, patting the hard cover causing clouds of dust to puff out from it.  
  
“Find a few more, we might not find everything in that,” he says, wondering how Zayn found a book out so fast.  
  
He hears Zayn put the book on the table, with a loud thud, as he turns around to search for more. After spending half an hour or so going through endless book spines, they have eight books lying open on the table; vicious, fire breathing dragons littering their covers. Zayn sits on the chair, bent over a massive book, staring at fading sketches and captions inked in High Valyrian on the yellow pages. Liam stands right beside him, looming above him, right hand clutching the top of the chair’s back rest, left hand on the table, occasionally moving his fingers to point at something on the book that Zayn is brooding over.

“Here it says,” Zayn reads the important points, translating them for Liam; “ _One needs to gain their dragon’s trust by rendering themselves defenseless in front of the dragon. Protect a dragon from harm at all costs; in return the dragon will protect one with its life. One should never be loud around a dragon, until one has gained its trust and respect. To earn a dragon’s respect one has to return the favor; be respectful to the dragon, grant it the admiration it deserves._ ”

“This might be difficult for you to do,” Liam says, and Zayn looks up to meet his eyes, their noses approximately four inches away from each other. Liam doesn’t move back at all; less because he doesn’t want to and more because he can’t find the power in himself to. Also Zayn seems to be unfazed by the proximity of their faces, so Liam just decides to keep his preposterous thoughts about kissing him a secret and continues, “Since you have chained them and shut them up, do you think they will trust you now?”

“Maybe if I try hard enough,” Zayn shrugs, the light not going out of his eyes, as he eagerly turns back to the book, “Like look here it says, _dragons are easily distracted by the smell of fresh meat_. I know this is true because Drogon used to fight Hazzael and Arien for the freshest batch of meat all the time. I can get Hazzael and Arien’s attention with fresh meat, then, _make eye contact with it and try to place a hand on its snout. Stroke it behind the ears, tickle it beneath the jaw. If a dragon lets one place their hand anywhere on its face, it’s a sign that one has gained its trust_.”

“Alright, what’s this?” Liam points at a paragraph underneath the sketch of a massive, fire breathing dragon, “Read this.”

“ _Never forget that dragons are dangerous creatures; no matter how much one tames them, a dragon will rebel if it is forced to do something it doesn’t want to. Especially large dragons, with a wingspan of 20ft. or more, don’t like being commanded. A dragon will throw one off its back if it doesn’t want to be ridden or if one does something that infuriates it. However, if they are respected, praised and rewarded properly for their grandeur and obedience, only then they are most likely to keep their trainer satisfied_.”

“How do you reward a dragon?”

“ _Food is the best reward you can present to a dragon_ ,” Zayn reads, after scanning the page, “ _Other than that, a pat on the head and gentle touches on the snout are also ways of showing gratitude. One should keep their dragon close and play with it; that way one can teach it to do multiple things like breathe fire, eat, land_ \- but I have already done this. They just don’t listen to me is the thing. How do I get them to listen to me again?”

Zayn flips the page in frustration, and Liam wants to place his hand on his shoulder, rub fingers behind his neck, give him a gentle pat or a comforting squeeze but he refrains. Instead he just inhales Zayn’s scent; strong like sandalwood and leather, mixed with sweat. It’s strangely enthralling, but then everything about Zayn is.

“ _Yell_ ,” Zayn says, pressing the tip of his finger on the bottom of the page he has opened in front of them, “ _Once one has gained their dragon’s trust and it still won’t heed to commands, yell. One should never use physical force but verbal power can be used to show anger and displeasure. When a dragon senses the disapproval of its master or trainer, it does everything in its power to change that_.”

“You’ll just have to make your voice heard then,” he says, “Scold them, like a mother does to her children.”

“Will they even listen to me?” Zayn’s head jerks up, again; face too close, nose too close, lips too close.

Again, Liam doesn’t back off, “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Zayn cracks a smile, “So basically, it’s earning trust, respect, yell, play, reward and don’t use physical force.”

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” Liam says, “But I don’t think it will be.”

“Then, I am glad I have you to help me,” Zayn says, as he shuts the giant book with a loud content thump, and looks up at Liam with bright eyes, sparking in the candlelight.

Hope flickers beneath Zayn’s pupils; its evident how desperately Zayn needs for this dragon training thing to work. His teeth are perfect; tongue pressed behind them as he grins up at Liam, all set to try and get his dragons back. This is the time, he thinks, this is the moment where he leans in and he presses his lips against Zayn’s, where he confesses how he has been feeling these unexplainable things for him. Feeling without even being aware of it; all he really knows is that no one makes his heart beat as willingly and piercingly as Zayn does. The sight of no one else’s lips has ever attracted Liam’s with a force this powerful. Their noses are too close, he’ll just have to lean an inch or two for them to touch, and about four or five inches in to kiss Zayn.

“Yes, you do have me,” he says, before he straightens up, creating distance between him and Zayn; his words having an entirely different meaning that he hopes Zayn doesn’t get.

—-

The next day, after discussing war strategies with the members of his council, including Liam and Louis, Zayn finds himself in the dragon pit with Liam and Loki. He has been waiting for this part of the day since the moment he opened his eyes in the morning; patiently waiting to try the new things he has learnt in order to get his dragons back under control. Half of him doesn’t think it will work, but there is Liam with him, and somehow his occasional reassuring smiles do a great job at calming that uncertain half.

Liam is standing right next to him, dressed from head to toe in black, entirely opposite of the white he is clad in. They stand at the exact same place they were yesterday when Hazzael and Arien had welcomed them with intense fireworks just like they are doing now. This time however, dragon fire isn’t the only source of light in the pit; Liam has lit a few candles that hang on the wall, in their respective iron holders. Loki sits at the doorway, with his head rested on his forearms, eyes round, reflecting all the fire Hazzael and Arien are breathing out.

“So what are you going to do?” Liam asks him, inspecting the dragons from afar.

“I think it’s time to bring in the food,” he answers immediately, he has been thinking about this all night; what he is going to do, what could happen, what couldn’t.

“Alright,” Liam says before calling out Loki.

Already knowing what to do, Loki gets up and runs up a few steps, disappearing for a minute or two before he is running back in with a skinned, dead stag in his mouth. He runs like a flash until he is about two feet away from the dragons and drops the stag, speeding away as fast as he had come. He repeats the procedure another two times, bringing in two more dead animals, and then settles down back beside the door, waiting to be told something to do. It doesn’t take time for the smell of fresh meat to make its way into the dragons’ nostrils and instantly both Hazzael and Arien hold their fire. Straining their necks to reach the stag; the chains preventing them from getting to their food. They moan wantonly, ravenous. And then Arien, on the left side, looks right at him; silver eyes round and pleading. His gold dragon grunts at him in way that he is well too familiar with.

Moving forward, taking measured steps, Zayn starts to approach Arien. A strong grip on his bicep stops him; “What are you doing?”

“He is calling for me,” he tells a concerned Liam, “Don’t worry, I know they won’t hurt me.”

He watches doubt linger on Liam’s face before he lets go of his arm, “I am dragging you away from here if you even get a slight scratch, alright?”

“Alright,” he says, and then turns back to Arien, gradually approaching him with measured steps. He keeps his hands raised, palms outwards, trying to convey how he is unarmed. He reaches the dead stags, and bends down to pick one up. It’s heavy, the sticky, juicy meat making his hands wet and clammy as he drags the stag towards Arien. The moment the stag reaches the dragon’s head, Arien roasts it with fire and then he’s digging his teeth in it, gobbling it up. Zayn repeats what he did, this time with Hazzael and the green dragon does the same.

He stands between them then, watching them eat voraciously, the meat that lies in front of his feet. With trembling, bloody hands, he softly touches the crown of Arien’s head. The dragon doesn’t throw him off, too busy filling his belly. His right hand, Zayn places on Hazzael’s left shoulder, gently caressing it, the rough skin sliding beneath his palm. He glances back at Liam, who nods at him, but has his fists clenched at his sides, still concerned.

Steadily, he bends, leaving Arien alone to move his hand from Hazzael’s shoulder to beneath his chin, he tickles him and Hazzael makes a rumbling sound in his throat, causing him to smile. Reminding him of the last time he did this. He turns to run his hands over Arien’s spikes, and Arien leaves the meat, leveling his head with Zayn’s, their heads just a foot away, the reptile’s intense silver eyes staring right into Zayn’s. A moment passes, and then Arien closes his eyes, and leans in, bowing his head a little. Stretching his hand forward, Zayn lightly strokes Arien’s snout with his fingers, and the dragons makes a low purring sound that fills Zayn’s heart with warmth and joy. From behind, Hazzael brings his large head beside him, resting his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, grunting softly. Zayn can feel his cheeks hurt from smiling as he reaches his free hand to pat Hazzael’s head; he didn’t know gaining his dragons’ trust back would be this easy. He actually was dreading that he might have lost them forever.

When his eyes find Liam, his heart does a double take because Liam is smiling wider as ever, his face illuminated orange by the candle that burns just above his head. His eyes are doing that thing again; the one where they form lines and crinkles and make him want to kiss every inch of Liam’s face. He signals Liam to come on over with his head, and Liam’s eyes widen as if asking, “Are you serious?”

Zayn nods, beckoning him again. He watches as Liam slowly makes his way towards them, his eyes shifting back and forth between the dragons and him. Liam has almost reached them when Arien senses him, and without delay, he removes his head from under Zayn’s palm, turning on Liam and snarling loudly at him, Hazzael following his lead, snapping his jaw at a very horror struck Liam who backs off hastily, shielding his face with his hands.

“ _Daor_!” he yells, causing the dragons to turn their heads towards him, and he looks straight into their eyes, telling them off strictly again, “ _Daor_.”

The dragons retreat and he walks over to Liam, who looks panic stricken.

“I thought they were going to roast me like that deer,” Liam says.

“As if I would let that happen,” he comments, “Come with me, come on.”

Without thinking, he takes Liam’s hand in his, pulling him forward. Only realizing what he has done when Liam’s fingers go easily between his and Liam takes a sudden deep breath. Their hands are tangled with each other and Zayn waits for Liam to slip his out, but when Liam doesn’t he decides to ignore the way Liam’s fingers press into the back of his hand. Once he comes close to Hazzael and Arien again, he lifts their entwined hands up to show them. The dragons’ eyes following his movements, resting on how Zayn is holding Liam’s hand.

“He is a friend alright,” he says lightly and soothingly, looking back and forth between Hazzael and Arien, pointing and Liam and himself with his hands, as he makes Liam step forward with him, “He is going to help me take your chains off. Stay calm, sshh, shhh…”

Letting go of Liam’s hand, Zayn reaches for Arien’s collar. Together they manage to unclasp the heavy iron collar, and drop it to the ground with a loud, reverberating clank. They move to Hazzael freeing him off the collar next, Liam running his hands on his emerald like scales, eyes full of wonder. The dragons waste no time in flapping their wings freely and charging ahead, taking sharp turns as they fly around the massive fire pit; not very fast, relaxing their wings and testing their reflexes. It fills his heart with a sense of pride to see them; free again and not hurting Loki who runs among them, trying to outrun them but failing miserably. The animals circle around them, letting out howls and grunts, the candle flames flickering with gusts of wind as they speed past them. He glances to his right to find Liam smiling as well, his eyes fixed on Hazzael, Arien and Loki. He takes a deep breath, swallows the bubble of fear forming in his throat and gently he touches Liam’s left hand with his fingers.

The touch makes Liam glance down, and then up at him with questioning eyes and pressed lips when he gently slides his fingers back in between Liam’s thick ones.

“Thank you,” he says, slowly, meeting Liam’s eyes that glimmer auburn in the orange hue, “For helping me out with this.”

He watches as Liam’s facial expression changes from that of surprise to that of inexplicable compassion as his lips curve into a smile again, “You don’t have to thank me for anything. Actually, I prohibit you to ever thank me for anything ever again.”

And Liam tightens his grip around his hand, sending shivers up his arm, before he goes back to watching Loki chasing Hazzael and Arnie all around the dragon pit.

—-

There is only one thing in Meereen that makes him miss the North more than anything; the scorching sun, which fortunately is going down the horizon after two hours of burning miserably down on his head. He misses his boots and the weight of his fur cape over his shoulders. It’s not that he doesn’t like the lighter, thinner clothes that he is wearing now; black, sleeved tunic, silver embroidery on the V-neck line, his thick black belt around his waist, white trousers and the same sandals he wears almost every day - it’s just that he was used to always wearing his own clothes back at Castle Black and he just misses the way they made him feel; a little tougher, slightly bigger than he felt like.

He is sitting on one of the bottom tiers of the circular fighting pit that Zayn has brought him to, they have been coming here every afternoon since Zayn freed Hazzael and Arien. The preparations for war are in full swing, every fighting pit in Meereen is filled with soldiers training and locals combating for a place in the army, except this one. Zayn had reserved the biggest fighting pit for dragon training and a very suspicious Louis had visited yesterday, his jaw hitting the ground with shock when he saw Hazzael and Arien circling around each other, bumping their heads; play fighting, right in front of him.

Each day, Liam spends more and more time with Zayn. While Harry and Niall train with Louis, he helps Zayn train his dragons and keeps him company. Actually, he kind of thinks that Zayn wants him to stay with him; he barely ever calls for Harry now and most of the times Harry isn’t even in his chambers whenever Liam goes there. Also, Zayn is different when around him. With his officials, council members, soldiers and Louis, Zayn keeps his posture rigid, his manner polite and respectable, his voice firm and loud, his questions straightforward and his decisions adamant. With Liam however, he is relaxed, laid back, running around with his dragons shouting orders at them, asking for suggestions when making decisions and sometimes trusting Liam’s judgments without a single question.

Right now, dressed in his usual clothes and accessories (the doublet green this time, the trousers black), Zayn is throwing large chunks of meat in the air; sometimes Hazzael or Arien breath fire to cook them, catching them and gobbling them up, other times Loki jumps as high as he can on the red sand, catching it in his mouth and running away with it before a dragon comes close. He has had real progress with the two dragons; they listen to him now when he asks them to stop, come to him, not do something, eat, fly, land and follow him. And with every step that Zayn takes forward with the dragons, he becomes a tab bit happier. It’s obvious in his eyes; which grow brighter and brighter, a true sense of zeal filling them, enthusiasm, like he knows nothing can stop him from overcoming obstacles now, like he has already won the war.

“Come on, come on down now, _mazigon zaldrizes_!” Zayn is shouting at Hazzael and Arien, who flutter their giant veined wings and land just beside Zayn; Arien bowing his head in front of him for a tickle under the chin and Hazzael offering him his neck for Zayn to hug, while he throws small streaks of fire at Loki, who playfully dodges them.

He gets up from where he is lounging too, making his way over to Zayn who is rewarding his dragons with affectionate pats and tickles. When Zayn sees him coming, he shoots a smile his way which turns his inside into a slimy, gooey mess that he is now growing accustomed to.

“I think that is enough for today,” Zayn says, sweat glistening on his forehead and dripping down his bare arms. Two days ago, for the first time Liam had seen what was tattooed on Zayn’s arm; an entire dragon starting from above the shoulder right down to his forearm, like a sleeve, it’s eyes burning red as the sun fell on it.

“It is, you look exhausted,” he says, as his eyes take in Zayn’s sweaty neck, and the veins spread all over it, “The sun is going down too, it’s time to head back anyway.”

“I am actually famished,” Zayn says, as he starts walking towards the exit, “I hope Harry has the food ready.”

Liam strolls beside him, the dragons flying above, protecting them from the sun’s heat by casting gigantic shadows on them. Loki trots beside Zayn, looking almost as exhausted as Zayn does.

-

After taking a long, soothing bath, Liam gets into his night clothes; comfortable white cotton trousers and a shirt made of the same material, slit at the neck, loose sleeves coming all the way down to his wrists. There is nobody else in his room; he had sent Loki to be washed and fed by Niall and had asked Harry if he could have dinner served in his room tonight, and Harry had nodded, before going to fetch it for him. But it’s been almost half an hour since then; he has washed, gotten into cleaner clothes, even rested a bit, and his stomach still rumbles for food which is still not there.

He is just about to go downstairs himself, see what’s taking so long, propelled by the hunger gnawing at him, when Harry enters his room.

“Oh, you have washed up,” Harry says, “I came before, but didn’t find you here, and I didn’t want to invade your privacy by disturbing your bath so I went back.”

“It’s alright,” he says, “So the food isn’t ready yet, then?”

“It is, it is,” Harry says hastily, “The King wants you to eat with him today, he asked me to convey that message to you. But like I said, you were busy.”

“Zayn wants me to eat with him?” Liam asks, just making sure that he didn’t hear Harry wrong because this doesn’t normally happen; he usually eats with Niall, Louis and Harry down in the grand dining room.

“Yes, the food is already there,” Harry adds, “You might want to get there before it goes cold.”

“But I am not even dressed properly,” he says, “I didn’t know I was going to be called.”

“You don’t have to be,” Harry gives him a cheeky grin, of which Liam doesn’t really want to understand the motive behind, “It’s not an official dinner, you don’t have to dress formally. I mean the King isn’t either.”

“Oh, alright then,” he shrugs, confused and very aware of the clothes he is wearing, he hasn’t ever gone in front of Zayn looking so casual and unkempt.

All the way up, he keeps running his hands through his short hair, which he should have brushed and slicked back like he always does. He doesn’t even know how he looks, he should have at least checked himself in the mirror, why is he so god damn careless? His heart is up at his throat when he reaches Zayn’s chambers and Harry opens the door for him and he walks inside.

“Tell _Khal_ , I’ll be back in an hour or so to clear the dishes and everything,” Harry says, before he closes the door on Liam, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

Gulping, self-aware of his every move, Liam slowly makes his way towards the green curtains, passing the vacant table. Sure enough, the moment he steps into Zayn’s room, his heart jumps right out his throat and soars away somewhere into eternal madness because Zayn lounges on the couch at the foot of his bed, wearing his green robe; the one Liam had seen him in before the night Louis had disturbed their little chat and still looking as grand as ever. The gold band he usually wears on his head isn’t there anymore, his hair look wet too, all over the place, falling on his forehead in a boyish manner, gleaming in the candle light. But the worst is his smile; that widens when he looks up at Liam, clearly showing how impatiently he was waiting for him and how pleased he is that Liam came.

“Hello,” he greets Zayn, waving a hand at him awkwardly.

“Hello,” Zayn’s smile doesn’t waver, as he beckons Liam, “Sit come on, come on then.”

Trying to act casual, he steps forward and sits beside Zayn on the green sofa, making sure his leg doesn’t come in contact with wherever Zayn’s are under the robe. There are platters of food all over the table; chicken legs, lamb chops, gravy, bread, piles of salad and crystal containers holding blood red wine, but now he is somewhat more interested in tasting the flesh on Zayn’s right collarbone that peeks out from under the robe, two small dragon tattoos printed on it, than in any of the delicacies laid out in front of him.

Zayn hands him a dish, before picking one up for himself and says, “Come on, I know you are hungry. I feel the same way, I feel like I haven’t eaten in ages.”

Then Zayn is piling his plate, egging him on to pile his as well so he does; grabs as much chicken as he can before they start eating. The moment meat touches his tongue, his appetite jumps back in action, his stomach making a satiated sound that he hopes only he hears. They keep eating in silence, and he doesn’t even feel embarrassed because Zayn keeps grinning at him while nibbling on a chicken leg and making him wonder if anybody else gets to see Zayn like this; young, eyes full of mischief and liveliness.

About half an hour later, when they’ve eaten their stomachs full, Liam neatly piles the empty dishes on one side and Zayn sets the ones with leftovers on the other. Picking up the glasses, Zayn places one in front of Liam and one in front of himself, then reaching for the wine bottle. They are interrupted by Harry’s voice then that comes from behind the curtains.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, Harry, you may,” Zayn answers.

Harry steps in, two kitchen workers behind him who come forward to clear the table of all the dishes, leaving the wine and glasses behind.

“Do you require anything else, _Khal_?” Harry asks.  
  
“No thanks, Harry,” Zayn smiles at him, “You can go now.”  
  
He watches Harry bow and then leave before he asks, “What does that mean?”  
  
“What does what mean?” Zayn asks, filling half of his glass with crimson wine.  
  
“ _Khal_ ,” he says, “Harry is always calling you that.”  
  
“Oh,” Zayn says, his face darkening a bit, “That is what you call the king of the Dothraki tribe.”  
  
“But you are a Targaryen?” he inquires, confused.  
  
“I am, yes.”  
  
“Then why does Harry call you the king of a Dothraki tribe?”  
  
“It’s a long story, Liam,” Zayn says shortly, “Drink your wine.”  
  
There’s a shadow in Zayn’s eyes now that he tries to hide from him by blinking and staring right ahead. Call him insensitive, but Liam wants to know what’s behind Zayn’s stony expression; his face muscles have all hardened up, as he takes sips of his wine, without saying a word.  
  
“You can tell me, you know,” he tries again, hoping that Zayn wavers. He has told Zayn almost everything about himself by now – about his childhood, his family, Loki – it's only fair that Zayn shares a part of his own. And no, Zayn doesn't owe him a thing at all, he knows that, but at the same time he also wants to know Zayn inside and out, wants to become a part of Zayn’s past, present and future. Wants to get acquainted with all the sides of him that Zayn keeps hidden.  
  
“I know I can tell you,” Zayn says, “It's just that you’re better off not knowing.”  
  
“Why?” he asks.  
  
“Just take my word for it,” Zayn asserts.  
  
He bites his bottom lip hard, his heart in a perturbed state. What could be so bad that Zayn has to hide it from him? Why does Zayn feel like he still has to hide things from him? Is he afraid Liam would judge him, or does he just not trust him? Actually, he is the one who is over thinking here. He shouldn't expect Zayn to be an open book to him, why would Zayn even want to do that? What is Liam to him other than just a friend, an ally? Who will be gone after they win the war, forgotten soon after.  
  
There is a feeling in the pit of his stomach; an all too familiar emotion of rejection. Similar to that of when his stepmother bought his siblings new presents and clothes and all he got was the clothes they had outgrown. He downs the glass of wine, and then places the glass back on the table, the bottom hitting wood harder than he had intended for it to. It does cause Zayn to finally look his way though, so maybe he doesn't regret almost slamming the glass down.  
  
“I need to get going,” he says, lying staring straight into Zayn’s wide eyes, not an emotion on his face, “We were in the pit all day, I am massively tired.”  
  
“You are not a very effective liar, Liam,” Zayn says, placing his own glass back on the table.  
  
“Just another thing I’ll have to learn from you then,” he says, coldly, “I have already learnt how to put people down.”  
  
“Liam, listen to me alright,” Zayn says, voice just as sharp, as he clutches Liam’s bicep, preventing him from getting up, “Whatever it is, it’s pointless. It has passed. Like every king, I have my secrets too. But on top of all that, I don't want you to think any different of me. You think I am a good man, you have believed in that since the moment you stepped foot in here. And I don't want to change that, I don’t want you to think I am not good.”  
  
“What does it matter to you what I think of you?” he snaps at Zayn, before he can stop himself.  
  
“It does,” Zayn’s eyes soften.  
  
“I don’t think I can ever think negatively of you,” he swallows the anger bubbling in his throat, “And I don't think whatever you did could be wrong enough to change that.”  
  
“What if it does?”  
  
“It won’t.”  
  
“It will.”  
  
“Don’t you trust me at all?”  
  
“I do,” Zayn says, “Actually you’re the only one here besides Harry whom I can trust with my life. And that is exactly why I shouldn't tell you. I can’t lose you.”  
  
“What if I want to know?”  
  
“Then I’ll tell you that it’s none of your business to know.”  
  
That stings. It shouldn't. Liam should respect Zayn’s privacy, he is being childish right now, but it stings as painfully as fangs tearing apart skin do. And he can’t help it.  
  
“Alright,” Liam manages to speak; he just needs to get away from Zayn right now. By tomorrow, maybe, he will accept and forget all about this and they can go back to how things between them usually are, but right now, he needs to go, “I agree. It is none of my business. Why am I even- anyway, I really do need to go, I really do need to rest. Now, I'm sorry, but if you will excuse me.”  
  
Zayn’s grip around his arm tightens, “You are stubborn. I did not know that about Starks.”  
  
“Maybe it's a bastard thing,” he spits out.  
  
“Liam,” Zayn sighs, saying in a defeated tone, “You aren't going to let this go, are you?”  
  
He keeps his resolute gaze fixed on Zayn’s and doesn't respond or try to get his arm out of Zayn’s grasp.  
  
“Alright listen then,” Zayn says after a moment, probably realizing that Liam is not going to let this go, “And if it makes you despise who I am, you are free to leave without saying a word.”  
  
He doesn't respond again, not knowing exactly what to say. Just silently watches, seated on the spot, as Zayn finally lets go off his arm and pours himself another glass of wine before he shifts a bit to face him.  
  
“I was sold to the _Khaleesi_ , the queen, of the Dothraki tribe when I was seventeen by my older brother,” Zayn begins, “Actually, I was promised in matrimony to her but I prefer the term sold because it felt nothing like a marriage, it was an insult to a sacred relation like that.”

He doesn't really know what he was expecting, but the revelation hits him like a lightning bolt. He opens his mouth to say something, probably to stop Zayn from continuing because the expression on Zayn's face is one of his least favorites.  
  
But Zayn holds up a hand, “No, you are not allowed to talk until I am finished. I would rather you don’t.”  
  
He presses his lips shut again, giving Zayn a slight nod to go ahead. Is he ready to hear whatever comes next, well, that he is about to find out.  
  
“My brother, Zachariah, he gave me away to the _Khaleesi_. I knew nothing about the Dothrakis, had no idea what was happening,” he says, “I just listened to Zach because he was older and capable of doing very heartless things. Like he did to Arnie,” he swallows, “He was this boy, a very good friend of mine, he grew up with me, we were the same age, always together even when I was royalty and he was just a commoner whose mother worked at the castle. Zach caught us kissing, and he came over and pushed Arnie off the roof in front of my eyes. I remember screaming, as Zach held my hands back, making me watch Arnie hit solid ground, a pool of blood around his head. The worst part was that Arnie wasn't gay; he was only helping me find out if I was. He died for the wrong reason. He died because of me.”  
  
He shifts closer to Zayn, takes his tattooed hand in his, rubs his dorsal with his thumb, soothing circles which cause zero to no effect to the guilty expression on Zayn's face.  
  
“Later he told me to never tell anybody about my sexuality, because I was already promised to the _Khaleesi_ and it was just going to ruin things. He said he was protecting me, securing my future. And I believed him. Because there was nobody else around to believe in,” Zayn says, “When we reached the Dothraki Sea, I was disgusted. It seemed like whoever was ruling wasn't doing a very good job. The only thing good about that place was the equality among people; everyone was a slave. And they all served Perrphia, the _Khaleesi_. The one I was destined to marry. But when I met her, I felt nothing. Just numb. She was beautiful of course; golden hair, porcelain skin, way older than I was, and her nails were long. Really long. The first time she touched my cheek, I had a light scar right here for days.”  
  
Zayn points to his left cheek, a lopsided smile on his lips that Liam doesn't partake in. He just keeps holding Zayn's hand tightly, trying to convey how he isn't going to go anywhere.  
  
“We got married, and that is how I became the _Khal_ ,” Zayn says, “But she never treated me like a husband; I was just a puppet, following her orders, agreeing with all her decisions. The only thing I could have was a slave of my own who only tended to me. Her men took me to a slave house, there I found Harry and I brought him, and then freed him telling him to run away if he wanted. He didn't, said he had nowhere else to go. I felt more and more like a showpiece each day. A sacred diamond Perrphia had found that she never missed a chance to show off to her people. They eyed me, hundreds of men, as I sat beside her, my chest bare. That is when I got some of these tattoos actually. Harry knew a witch who could do it, using powers instead of needles. She did the Targaryen sigil on my arm, the serpent and this.”  
  
Zayn glances at his hand that enveloped safely in his, “I got these done so that those men would have something to stare at instead of swallowing me whole with their eyes. Some of the chiefs that came to visit from other lands presented me with gifts, which she used to take away from me the moment we were alone. Then this one man came once, long white beard, introduced himself to me as Rogo. He handed me a silver dragon scale, asked me to meet him after midnight at the coast. He had something to give me but couldn't in front of people watching. ‘Bring the scale,’ he said, ‘it's of a real dragon. The dragon of your father.’”  
  
“You went?” Liam asks, shifting position to entirely face Zayn, pulling his right leg up on the couch, folding it beneath him, entirely engrossed in the story.  
  
“I did,” Zayn says, “After Perrphia fell asleep, Harry kept watch and I sneaked out. Ran all the way to the coast and the man sat there, in his cloak, a hood over his head. He had a box by his side, I could only barely make out in the darkness. I walked over to him, and he asked me to sit. So I did. And then he asked me to open the box, which I did as well. I found three huge eggs inside, dragon eggs. A grey, a green and a brown one.”  
  
“Drogon, Hazzael and Arien,” Liam says.  
  
“Yes,” Zayn smiles at him, “Turned out he was my father’s friend. And the eggs were of my father’s dragon which was killed when Kings Landing was besieged. Rogo told me only I could hatch those eggs, when I asked him how he said I am the blood of dragon and I'd figure it out. He took the dragon scale back from me, said it was of personal value to him. And then was gone, disappearing into the night and out of my life. Just like that.”  
  
“I brought the eggs back, and hid them from Perrphia. I knew she would take them if she found out,” he goes on, “Those eggs made my life in that area bearable. I wasn't allowed to go out, since I was a feast to every man’s eye. So I stayed in with my dragon eggs, wondering how to hatch them. I tried putting them in the fire, making nests out of clothes; I tried a lot of stupid things that Harry suggested. And then one day, Zach came to visit while I was holding one egg over the fire, ordering it to hatch.”  
  
Zayn chuckles, probably at his own stupidity and Liam smiles at him. But then gloom takes over his features again as he resumes his story.  
  
“He wanted them. He wanted my dragon eggs; he tried to take them away from me. When I put up a fight, he slapped me right across the face. Said I didn't deserve them, that I wasn't even a Targaryen. I was a shame to my family's blood. That Targaryens didn't live like captives and sex slaves to women. He blamed me for everything he had brought upon me. He threatened to tell Perrphia about the eggs if I didn't give them to him, told me she would have me killed. I told him she wouldn’t; I was the one who allured rich men to her village. She wouldn't risk that. But it only took me five more minutes to find out that Perrphia was as hard hearted as Zach was. She was in love with him, I was only there for them to use.”  
  
“Oh,” he whispers, before his hand leaves Zayn's to touch him on the cheek, “I am sorry.”  
  
“Don't be, I didn't even care. I only cared about my dragons,” Zayn gives him a sad smile, “Needless to say; they took my dragons eggs away from me. And I just sat there in the corner, crying into my knees, almost all night.”  
  
Liam brushes a few strands of black hair away from Zayn's forehead, wanting to kiss a particular spot so bad.  
  
“The next day, Harry shook me awake,” Zayn goes on, “He was crying because I had been unconscious and was bleeding in places. I told him what had happened. I saw him storm out in anger, a boy of fourteen, taller than his age and then a few moments later he was back, a vial of yellow liquid clutched in his hand. He said that three drops each would do it. And strangely enough, I knew exactly what he meant.”  
  
Something dark sparkles in Zayn's eyes, “There was this bottle of syrup Perrphia drank from every night, so I poured whatever was in the vial into it. She was found dead in her bed the next morning by Zach. Harry ran outside screaming how Zach had poisoned her while I put up a show inside, crying my eyes out hugging her limp body, clutching my broken heart. I was very convincing because the guards immediately took Zach captive.”  
  
“What did they do to him? To Zach?” he asks, not knowing how to handle the information that Zayn had also actually taken a life.  
  
“It is a Dothraki custom to build a funeral pyre for the dead and then burn it with them,” Zayn explains, “To prove myself their _Khal_ I had to bury their _Khaleesi_ with respect. So I had a pyre built, and then I had my brother tied to the pyre. Then I had it set on fire.”  
  
“You burned him alive,” he whispers.  
  
“I did,” Zayn nods, firmly, “And then I walked into the fire with my dragons eggs in hand.”  
  
“You what?” he asks with a gasp.  
  
“I walked into the flames,” Zayn says, eyes sincere, “Haven't you heard the legendary rumors? The Targaryen boy walking into flames during night, rising from among the ashes at the break of dawn. With three dragon hatchlings; the one covered in spikes sat on his feet, a green one flying above his head and a death black one perched on his shoulder, screeching.”  
  
“I have, I have heard about it,” Liam recalls either Niall or Louis saying something, he had never cared to check if the legend was indeed true.  
  
“Well, they are not rumors, its all true,” Zayn says, “The entire tribe bowed in front of me when I survived the fire. They pronounced me their king, titled me The Unburnt. And that is how I became the _Khal_. Harry still calls me that, because that is what he has always called me. Since he was a fourteen year old kid and I, an eighteen year old messed up showpiece.”

He has his hands tangled with Zayn, lying on the couch between them, as he finds appropriate words to respond with. But how does one respond to a timeline like the one he has just heard? One really can’t.

“See,” Zayn says, “I told you that you were better off not knowing.”

Shaking his head, he tightens his grasp around Zayn’s hands.

“You can go-”

“No, don’t ask me to go,” he cuts Zayn off instantly, “I am glad you told me, I am glad you told me all that.”

“Well, then you are quite strange,” Zayn sighs relieved, “And I am delighted that you are. Look, I know I killed people but it was justice in my eyes. Zach had to lose his life because he took Arnie’s and Perrphia didn’t blink an eye while children and women were tortured and mistreated in the streets. She even used me as an item of property, she-”

“You don’t really have to explain anything,” he hushes Zayn, “I don’t need you to explain anything.”

“So who am I to you now, Liam?” Zayn asks him, his eyes reminding him of a stag.

“You are Zayn Stormborn, of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, The Unburnt, The Father of Dragons, the _Khal_ and you are the only rightful, appropriate king of the Seven Kingdoms,” he says, “But besides that, you are a man of courage, a man who didn’t know if he would survive the fire and yet stepped into it. You are the best example of patience and goodwill and you are a man of greatness, Zayn. And I have never in my life respected anyone this much, besides my father.”

Zayn’s eyes are glistening; Liam can very well see the tears pooling in them, refusing to fall, “So the fact that I burnt my brother alive and poisoned my wife doesn’t matter to you?”

“All of us get just one life,” he says, “And all of us, go to great measures to protect it. And you were not only protecting yours, but also of your dragons.”

“Normally,” Zayn lets out a light chuckle, “A person would run away from me if they found out what I had done, that I had walked out of fire alive.”

“There’s nothing about this situation that even comes close to the word ‘normally’,” Liam grins at him, “And I like it that way, I like us this way.”

“You like us this way,” Zayn asks, glancing down at the tangled mess of their fingers before looking back into Liam’s eyes, “Yes, yes, maybe I do too.”

“Maybe?” he asks, watching Zayn grinning again, the shadows on his face disappearing as his eyes find their mischievous sparkle, “So does that mean you are not sure yet?”

“Maybe.”

Very slowly, he leans his head in, resting his forehead softly against Zayn’s, inhaling the scent of sandalwood that always radiates from Zayn, “What about now?”

“Now I can see that your eyes are really brown, like dark brown, like Arien’s claws,” Zayn responds, nibbling on his bottom lip in nervousness or as an attempt to tease, Liam doesn’t know.

“That is a good analogy, I suppose?” he says, leaving Zayn’s hands to cup Zayn’s face. This is the first time he has rested both his palms, against Zayn’s cheeks; the skin soft beneath them, the structure beneath the skin angular and sharp.

“It is,” Zayn whispers, the tease in his voice evident, “Arien has beautiful claws.”

With his hands, he tilts Zayn’s head down and places his lips right on the middle of his forehead. He hears Zayn’s sharp intake of breath loud and clear, amidst the loud pounding of his own heart confined in his chest; this is the first time his lips have touched Zayn’s skin.

“What was that for?” Zayn asks once he moves back, his eyes radiant, face muscles peaceful.

“That’s how I usually kiss Loki when he is being a good boy,” Liam says – if Zayn can be a mischievous tease, it’s only nice to return the favor – grinning at a bemused Zayn as he gets up to leave, “Good night Your Majesty, see you at breakfast.”

—-

Louis swings his sword at his shins, but he jumps last minute dodging the attack, his feet landing hard on the red sand, causing Louis to curse under his breath. The blades of their swords clash together as Louis keeps attacking and he keeps blocking every attack. Walking in reverse, Zayn keeps his body alert, Louis’ sword hurling at him but never making contact with his leather armor. He hates having to wear armor, coming up to his neck, concealing his arms, fixed in place just above his waist. It makes him sweat and makes his movements slow, but Harry wasn’t going to let him indulge in a duel without protection.

“Give up already,” he hears Louis say through the clinking of steel as their swords dance around each other.

He laughs mockingly, taking his chance to strike at Louis’ stomach only that Louis is faster and clearly more trained than him for he leaps backwards, Zayn’s sword slicing through hot air instead. And then he is attacking Louis, swing after swing, Louis walking backwards as he effortlessly obstructs every single one of his strikes.

Their swords move between them, a blurred mess of silver and steel, as they go at each other determined to win the friendly battle that had started out of nowhere. He can hear his dragons grunting from where they are resting on the tiers and can hear Harry singing gibberish songs trying to distract them because he doesn’t want them to fight. Then through the metal clinking and the swishing sound of swords, Zayn hears a familiar howl. He doesn’t really have to lose focus from Louis or stop striking in order to know that his doom has just walked into the fighting pit.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Louis, he fends off another attack aimed at his abdomen, throwing Louis off with his sword, causing him to almost lose his balance. Then he charges at Louis, swaying his sword at his chest but a man of fast reflexes, Louis ducks last minute, avoiding the strike completely. The shorter man aims at Zayn’s shins, the sword cutting through his leather trousers and sending a pang of pain up his legs.

“Yes!” Louis exclaims, straightening up and holding his sword out again.

Without missing a beat, the sound of Liam’s voice in his ears asking why they are fighting, Zayn lets out a painful grunt, slashing his sword downwards at Louis. Louis deflects the attack with his gauntlet; sparks flying when the blade hits the metal strapped to his arm. Next, he goes for Louis’ face, moving in, not giving him a chance to breathe. Louis sidesteps, the sword passing just a breath away from his face. Before Louis can respond, he uses his other hand to punch Louis hard right below the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to stumble backwards, clutching his abdomen, with a loud, “Fuck!”

Taking advantage, he swiftly flies his sword at Louis’ hand; an efficiently maneuvered arc aimed at the hilt, sending Louis’ sword flying out of his hand, landing five feet away from them. Smirking, he rests the ridge of his sword on Louis’ left shoulder, “And like I said before, I don’t like to be defeated.”

“That was impressive, and fast,” Louis says, not complaining, before pointing at his shin, “Now you may want to tend to that. We need you healthy and in one piece.”

He looks down at the wound on his shin, blood seeping out of it, dripping down his trousers.

“Harry said this was a friendly battle,” he hears Liam say, as he comes closer to where he and Louis are standing, “You weren’t supposed to actually hurt him.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Louis explains, raising his hands in defense.

Liam begins to say something but Zayn cuts him off, “It’s alright. I am not hurt.”

“You are bleeding,” Liam turns to him, as Louis leaves to pick up his sword and makes his way to Harry, “It doesn’t look like you are alright.”

“It’s strange isn’t it,” Louis says to Harry, but loudly enough for them to hear, “How Liam is more concerned about Zayn than Zayn is about himself?”

Zayn watches as red creeps its way up to Liam’s neck, from below the black tunic he’s wearing.

“Like you, I just want him in one piece since we have a war to win,” Liam responds just as loudly.

“Really, is that all?” he finds himself saying in a low voice meant only for Liam to hear.

Abruptly, Liam looks at him from Louis, giving him a fraught look, before his eyes travel back down to his bleeding leg, “Let’s get you out of this and get that cleaned up, come on.”

It’s not even that big of a gash, he knows he can make his way back to the Pyramid without limping even, but when Liam takes away his sword and unhinges his armor to help him take it off to reveal his thinner, green tunic beneath it; he lets him. All the while scanning Liam from head to toe, admiring how handsome he looks in black, belts tied around his thick waist, cotton stretched over his biceps, the birthmark sitting just below his neck, so inviting. He obliges when Liam snakes a strong arm below his armpit around his back. Intentionally, leaning into Liam all the way, so that Liam has to carry all his weight. But Liam doesn’t complain, he helps him walk towards the exit. They are just about to leave when Zayn stops in his footsteps.

There is a feeling in his chest; a familiar one, one that he is very used to. Then there is a faded shriek hitting his ear drums and he abruptly turns around, his eyes search the golden sky until they land on a large black V, far away, growing bigger and bigger as it flies towards them, its wings flapping wildly in all their glory. He takes a few steps forward, Liam letting go off his arm, probably staring at the approaching beast too.

Drogon lands right in the middle of the fighting pit, his claws digging into the red sand, his bat-like wings flapping wildly around him raising noisy clouds of sand from the ground.

“Drogon,” he acknowledges, his heart drumming in his chest, voice coming out like a plea.

“Holy shit,” Louis says loudly and Drogon jerks his neck towards him, grunting menacingly.

“Drogon!” he calls out again, the reptile sharply turning his neck back to him, “ _Mazigon_.”

Holding his breath he starts moving forward, Drogon watching him suspiciously, his tail thrashing in the air, disturbing the sand beneath him.

“Zayn, I don’t think you should…” he hears Liam say from behind him, his voice thick with worry and apprehension.

He ignores Liam, because this might be his chance to get Drogon back under his control. If he lets Drogon go now, he doesn’t know how many days it’ll be till he sees his dragon again. He is only a few steps away from the black winged reptile when hell breaks loose and a lot of things concur. Loki is suddenly running towards Liam out of nowhere and he watches as Drogon’s eyes, burning red and fierce, zero in on Loki and he snarls at the running direwolf. Drogon’s nostrils flare, a sound erupts from his throat as he opens his mouth revealing a set of sharp teeth and Zayn knows what is coming next.

A dam of fire jets out of Drogon’s mouth aimed at Liam’s direction, where Loki is standing at his feet, and without a second thought, amidst Loki’s dreadful howl and Liam’s scream, Zayn throws himself in front of it, shielding Liam. There is a terrifying scream that hits his ears, a scream that sounds much like his name, but he is surrounded by cackling flames to place who it belongs to. The fire swirls around him, only his clothes catching on fire and he pats the places that burn with it, all the while waiting for the fire burning around him to subside. It doesn’t touch his skin, the fire, it never does. His skin repels the fire dancing around him. Harry says he’s got magic blood, the blood of a dragon. And dragon fire doesn’t burn a dragon.

Ear shattering roars surround him, just as the flames sink into the ground to reveal Arien and Hazzael circling Drogon, predatory looks on their scaly faces. They snarl at him, the sounds that accompany, nightmarish. They look undersized in front of Drogon, but Zayn wonders if their combined efforts can take the large dragon down.

“Zayn, oh my god, Zayn,” it’s Liam, gripping his elbow and roughly turning him around, “Oh god, you are fine! I- I just- Zayn-”

He looks panic stricken, terror masking his angelic face, as he tries to find the words. But Liam doesn’t really need words, only if Liam knew that. He can decipher every single emotion in Liam’s eyes, gets every colour that flashes over his face.

“I am fine,” he says, “Dragon fire doesn’t hurt me.”

“You- Zayn, you-”

A growl cuts Liam’s sentence off and Zayn sharply turns around to find Drogon taking flight again, but Hazzael launches himself in the air like an arrow out of a bow, crashing into Drogon’s belly with full force. Drogon almost loses flight, his wings losing momentum, but then takes a sharp turn, steadying himself in the air before he faces Hazzael. Fire explodes from his mouth, aimed at Hazzael only that Arien smashes into Drogon from the left, causing the fire to miss Hazzael who rises above in a flash and shoots straight down for Drogon’s back, gaining speed as he nears his target. He hits Drogon hard, right on the spine, both dragons letting out hair-raising roars as they collide. They come soaring down, hitting the ground, with a loud slam that trembles every single grain of sand to the core.

Zayn runs then, Liam’s footsteps right behind him. He runs towards the dusty pile of Drogon and Hazzael, Arien flying cautiously above them, in case Drogon tries to escape.

“Harry!” he yells, once he nears his collapsed dragons and finds a wound on Hazzael’s left forelimb, “Haz is bleeding!”

Harry’s thudding footsteps can be heard, as Zayn moves to Drogon; his enormous dragon lies on the ground on his left side, one of his wings below his body, his limbs outwards, his eyes shut, his chin rested on the sand, his tail moving limply in the sand. Bending a little, Zayn touches the top of his head. Drogon’s eyes snap open instantly, burning like molten lava as he grunts through his nostrils, still intimidating. Lifting his head, the muscles under his neck flexing, Drogon looks straight at Zayn. His eyes burn like hot furnaces, but there is something different in the way he stares now; imploration hides beneath the red veins for only Zayn to see, as he lets out a small reluctant whine, for only Zayn to hear.

“Drogon,” Zayn says affectionately, making sure not to break eye contact, running his hand down his jaw, before he jumps over one of his limbs, wincing when his own wounded leg hurts a little, to inspect his huge body for injuries. Surprisingly, Drogon’s skin is woundless, scales still reflecting the sunlight.

“He’s not hurt,” he says to Liam, who is standing hesitantly a few feet away from Drogon’s body.

“Which is good, I suppose?” Liam asks, hesitantly.

“It’s better than good,” Zayn says, rubbing Drogon’s neck, the leathery skin underneath his palm, making the reptile croon as he turns his head back to Zayn, shifting his legs to stand. Liam takes a few cautious steps back as Drogon gets to his feet, grumbling as he towers over Zayn.

“Is he going to attack again?” Liam asks.

“I think he’s gearing up to do just that, I wouldn’t trust this one,” Louis says from where he stands next to Harry beside Hazzael, who is on his feet again too, eyes fixed on Drogon.

Zayn doesn’t respond, too invested in staring right back into his dragon’s eyes, never breaking contact. Then he commands, “ _Obūljagon_.”

Obediently, Drogon folds his forelimbs and bends his upper body in front of Zayn. Placing his sandaled foot on the dragon’s shoulder, Zayn lifts himself up onto it’s back. He can feel three pairs of eyes on him, probably questioning if he has lost his mind. At first he is about to do it by himself, but then he realizes he doesn't want to do this alone.

“Come on Liam,” so he says, holding his hand out, eyes resting on Liam, his other hand gripping the side of Drogon’s neck.

Liam’s already wide eyes grow wider, as they shift from him to Drogon’s bent head, and back to him, still trying to figure out what he’s doing. A major part of him thinks Liam won’t come, if the avid apprehension on Liam’s face is of any conveyance. If Liam chooses not to come, he’ll understand. But the incessant beating of his own heart is sure Liam will take his hand, so he keeps it outstretched.

Until, Liam takes heavy steps towards him, and takes it. Similarly like him, Liam mounts the dragon, settling behind Zayn with his hands placed firmly on either side of his waist, just a seam of cloth between skins.

He pats the side of Drogon’s neck and says, “ _Simanogon_.”

Drogon raises his body and head, straightening up. The grip on the sides of his waist tightens, the heartbeat behind his back fastening. The dragon walks a few steps, and turns around to face the hanging jaws of Harry and Louis.

“ _Sōvegon_.”

Large wings on either side of them spread open, as Drogon’s feet leave the ground to take flight and Liam exhales loudly behind him. Drogon rises up into the sky, gaining speed with every inch, hot air piercing his face, Liam’s arms wounding around his waist, his own hands clutching on Drogon’s scales firmly. The dragon soars ahead, the wind in his hair, Liam’s legs jingling against his as Liam stares down, taking in the view. They are real high up in the air now, but not high enough to deprive Zayn of making out what stretches below them.

There is adrenaline pumping through his veins as he looks below too, the pyramids that scatter all over Meereen looking like pointy bumps of sand. Drogon keeps moving forward, amidst thin clouds and hot air, as Zayn looks over a miniature version of his city. They come over a field, greenery spreading wide and far, cattle grazing on the grass, children playing around. It brings a smile to Zayn’s face to witness the happiness that is spread over such a small land and then the dragon trembles beneath him, a tremor going through his body and Liam holds him closer, instantly.

“Zayn, what is happening?”

“He is going to burn them all,” Zayn says, as Drogon makes a noise, before he opens his mouth.

“ _Daor_ , Drogon!” Zayn shouts.

The dragon snaps its jaw shut before letting out a grunt and flying ahead, getting a pat from Zayn on his back. They pass the fields, the edge of a cliff and then they are over The Narrow Sea, the blue expanse of nothing but rippling water stretches below them. Drogon shoots towards the water, making the wind blast in his ears, Liam letting out a little squeak, and then just when they’re about to hit water, Drogon takes a sharp turn, his tail splashing against the water and darts back into the blue sky. The air cooler than before swirling all around them as Zayn smiles wide, chuckling, blood speeding in his veins, Liam’s erratic heartbeat against his back sending shivers down his body.

Clouds tear up as Drogon flies through them, doing cartwheels in the sky, not the malicious dragon that was going to burn a field down a few moments. Zayn’s head spins, bones tingling, as Liam’s light laughter sinks into his ears. Liam’s arms are still tight around his waist, their legs moving against each other.

“How do you feel?” he shouts back at Liam, as Drogon does a twisty thing in the air, causing him to clutch on the scales a bit tighter, Liam pulling him closer.

“I can’t describe it!” Liam brings his mouth near his ear.

“Neither can I,” he says, his smile unwavering, face muscles starting to hurt, as Drogon flies in rapid circles, chasing his tail before he starts to head back to the fields.

They accelerate forward, ripping through the air, a light blue all around them, Liam’s hand clasped together over his stomach as he stretches his arms wide, letting go of his grip on Drogon, Liam keeping him in place as he soars on his dragon, air whizzing in his ears combined with Liam's occasional chuckles. And if there is one word to describe how he’s feeling right now; it's happy. Drogon is under his control, he has got Hazzael and Arien’s loyalty, his people have been training day and night preparing for the war, Louis has given them perfect locations to attack first and Liam has just rested his chin on his shoulder.

Life has never looked so tremendous and easy to him before; the endless sky widening in front of him, the air tickling his cheeks, the blood pulsing through his veins, his hair falling into his eyes, his kingdom stretching below him.

“I love this,” he shouts, “I love all of this!”

“And I you,” Liam says.

It’s too soon, it’s too sudden, and it’s not even a proper confession. Yet, it makes Zayn still against Liam who himself has gone rigid behind him. His heart thumps wildly as he twists his neck around, nose almost touching Liam who hastily removes his chin off his shoulder, not unfastening his arms from around his waist though. His short hair flying backwards, his forehead wide and wrinkled, his eyes blinking rapidly in the wind as he tries to focus on Zayn.

Then, Zayn’s eyes fall on Liam’s lips, which part to form words Zayn doesn’t hear. Half of his brain had stopped functioning a moment ago and there’s only the strong sound of wind yelling in his ears. The last thing he sees is Liam eyelashes fluttering in bewilderment, before he leans in and presses his lips against Liam, Drogon’s wings spread out wide on either side of them.

He feels nothing then; nothing but the warmth of Liam’s lips pressing back. Liam holds his waist in place, Drogon speeds ahead over Meereen, and Zayn kisses Liam like it’s now or never; like if he'd the die the next second. He puts everything into the way he parts his mouth, and Liam kisses his bottom lip gently before taking it between his teeth. There’s a rush of feelings shooting up and down Zayn’s body, the wind around him getting warmer and warmer. He has already let go of Drogon’s shoulders, one of his hands pressed against Liam’s chest, one palm flat on Drogon’s skin. In this moment, he doesn’t care.

Doesn’t care if Liam meant what he said or if it was just a slip of tongue, in the spur of a moment statement. Doesn’t care if he’s many feet above the ground, could possibly fall at any second. He really doesn’t care. All he really cares about is this moment right here; where he is safe in strong arms, refusing to unclasp from around him. Where he is riding his dragon, the one who he has spent ages missing. Where he has his lips pressed against the man’s, who he might be in love with.

Where he is soaring in the air, feeling free and alive, on top of the world; indestructible.

—-

He watches the green dragon’s head with scrutiny, wondering whether a horn protruding out of the side of its head would cut his finger if he touched it. He has wanted a dragon since he was a little boy; he used to fantasize about having one, riding on its back and conquering the world. But his uncles had told him all dragons had died during the besiege. They were nothing but a myth now, parts of stories mothers told their children before putting them to sleep.

Now, a live breathing dragon lays in front of him, a handsome curly haired boy rubbing a slimy ointment on one of its legs. And he wonders if he’s living a fairytale.

“What are you looking at?” Harry pulls him out of his reverie, his head still bent over Hazzael’s leg.

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“Of?”

“Of how mighty jealous I am of Liam right now,” he admits, “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“And you are jealous because?”

“He gets to ride a dragon and I don’t?” he says, “Behead me, but I think your King fancies him.”

“I would rather not comment on that,” Harry says, straightening up, wiping his hands on his trousers, “But I can ask my King to let me take you on a ride, on Hazzael.”

“He would allow you to do that?” he asks, surprised.

“Well, I can’t see why not,” Harry shrugs, “I have always taken care of Hazzael, and well _Khal_ did name him after me.”

“This dragon is named after you?”

“Yes,” Harry grins widely at him, patting the dragon’s shoulder.

“But your name is Harry?”

“Yes, it is,” Harry says, “My mum used to call me Hazza when I was little. That is the only thing I remember about her. And I told _Khal_ that, ages ago when he rescued me from the slave house. So when Hazzael hatched, he said it was green like my eyes. So he should be called Hazzael.”

“What about the other two? Drogon and that one,” he asks, pointing at Arien who is resting on a tier, Loki running around him, trying to get him to play with him, letting out little yaps, peculiarly cheerful considering recent events.

“I don’t know. But whoever it is that they are named after must be _really_ important to _Khal_.”

“So you mean you are _really_ important to Zayn too?” he questions, not really understanding the incentive he has behind it.

“Yes,” Harry says, unblinking, his hands behind his back, “At least I would like to believe so.”

“Do you have a reason to?” he asks, “I mean, you are just one of his attendants. Nothing more, right?”

Harry narrows his eyes at him at that, his forehead scrunching up into a series of lines, “I don’t really know how to answer that. I will tell you this though; Zayn Stormborn is a good man. But he won’t blink twice before ripping your head off your body if you were to lay a fingernail on me.”

It’s in Harry’s voice; the warning, the belief, that amuses him, “Relax, kid. I was just asking. I did not mean to offend you.”

“You were rude is what you were,” Harry says.

“I apologize.”

“Apologies don’t turn back time.”

He bites his tongue, short of a response. Harry is still staring at him, no softness in his looks. He is staring at him the same way he was when their eyes had first met, in the Hall with about ten swords pointed at him.

“I don’t know what I should do then, to make you not look at me like that again.”

“Try being considerate.”

“I am not used to this,” he says, “I am not used to Kings being affectionate towards their serv- attendants. Zayn is a Targaryen. And Targaryens are known to fight with fire and blood. How do you expect me to believe that he protects you without taking something in return?”

“What is it to you?”

“I-” he tries to come up with an appropriate excuse, but then when he just can’t, he decides to throw all caution to hell and says, “Because maybe, Zayn isn’t the only one who would rip someone’s head off if they as much as laid a fingernail on you.”

Harry’s narrow eyes relax instantly, his hands coming up front to clasp around each other just below his stomach. His green eyes don’t leave his for a single second, but his lips remain pursed. All Louis can hear is Loki’s distant howls and Hazzael’s heavy breaths. All he wants to hear is one of Harry’s instant comebacks.

“There was a period when I was all _Khal_ had, and he was all I had,” Harry says instead, “Yes, he is a Targaryen but before that he is a good man. And like all good men, he does have secrets. Secrets that have shaped him to be who he is. I have taken part in those secrets, willingly so, and I will again if a chance were to arise. The King is the closest thing I have known to what feels like home. If he is a Targaryen, who fights with fire and blood then I can assure you Lord Louis that I am the spark that ignites the fire and I am the knife that draws out the blood. If you doubt him, you doubt me. And if dubiousness is all you have when it comes to me, I would rather you stop caring.”

Scanning Harry’s resolute face he wonders if it’s in his fate to always fall for, in his father’s words, ‘the low-lives’. First it was a squire, then a whore, now he’s standing here with his heart thumping against his chest in awe of an attendant. He lets out a chuckle at that, at himself being royalty. Being born at a place where he probably didn’t even belong.

“Nothing I said was humorous,” Harry comments.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he says truthfully, “I am in awe of you. I am laughing at myself.”

“Why?”

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About Stan, about El, about you.”

“Why would you list me with dead people?” Harry scowls.

“I wasn’t listing you with dead people,” he says, “I am listing you with people I was in love with.”

He watches Harry’s mouth open and close, he watches Harry swallow, his hands coming up front to wrap around each other. There is a sudden urge in him, to move forward and touch Harry’s face, take one of his hands in his, feel with those spidery long fingers tangled around his. But he can’t bring himself to move. Because Harry makes such a beautiful picture, standing beside Hazzael, his eyes the color of the dragon’s scales, his pink lips parted, at a loss of words. He hasn’t really seen Harry like this before; Harry always has something clever to say. And he wonders, for a fraction of moment, if he likes Harry better like this. Lost, speechless.

Before he can come to a decision though, he hears the flapping of wings, a bat-like shadow encompassing him and everything in his midst. He turns around, away from Harry as Drogon lands, in front of him, his claws making no sound against the soft ground. Drogon bends, letting Liam and Zayn climb off its back before he is crooning under Zayn’s palm. If Louis hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t believe this is the same dragon who had nearly burned Liam and Loki down an hour or so ago. He looks at Liam who quickly turns his head away, as if trying to hide his face, and walks over to Loki who jumps on his feet.

“How was it?” Harry asks Zayn, walking past him, bumping his shoulder into his with purpose.

He smirks to himself, watching Harry smile brightly at Zayn who answers in an excited voice, “It was the best thing I have ever experienced Haz, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me!”

—-

It’s bugging him. Actually, it’s a constant nag to his brain; Zayn hadn’t responded. Yes, he admits he had said it without thinking, he admits it was out of his mouth before he could even think. It was more adrenal than it was intentional, but he had meant it, and it had gotten Zayn to kiss him. Which should be enough for him; it’s not every day that one gets to kiss the most handsome man on the planet, perched on a dragon’s back, twenty feet above the ground.

But it’s not enough; it’s nerve-racking.

Zayn hadn’t said anything to him after that. Not a word. After coming back he had talked to Harry in the corner about something, helped Hazzael get up and fly again, discussed war strategies with Louis over dinner and then had said goodbye to all of them, retreating back into his chambers. Liam had gone to his own room then, away from Zayn but the image of long eyelashes fanning over brown cheeks kept flashing before his eyes every second. Loki and Niall had already left for the servant quarters, so he didn’t even have a distraction from the endless thoughts of Zayn’s lips pressed against his, circling his mind.

And so, he blames Zayn for what he is about to do. He blames Zayn for finally walking past the curtains he had been standing in front of for god knows how many minutes, and walking into Zayn’s bedroom.

Zayn is standing in front of the dresser; his head bent low at whatever lies in the drawer he is holding open. When he hears Liam’s footsteps, he raises his head. Looks in the mirror attached to the dresser and Liam watches as Zayn’s eyes meet with his reflection. Zayn shuts the drawer and turns around; the gold band from around his head is missing and he has changed into his long, green robe.

“Liam,” Zayn says, and it sounds like a greeting.

“Why didn’t you say something back?” he asks, not in the mood for delays, taking a few heavy steps towards Zayn.

He expects Zayn to get confused at the question, expects him to ask what he’s talking about but Zayn smirks instead.

“Oh.”

That’s it. That is all Zayn says before he leans back into the dresser and folds his arms above his chest, his face illuminated by the candle flames dancing on either side of the mirror.

“Is that all you are going to say?” he asks, taking another step forward.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know if you meant what you said,” Zayn says.

“Why would I say something like that and not mean it?” he asks.

Zayn shrugs.

“How do I prove to you that I did?”

“That, you already did,” Zayn straightens up to slowly come forward, until he is less than an arm’s length away from Liam, “You came here, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“You are very hard to stop thinking about,” he says, voice low and meaningful, as he stares into Zayn’s eyes thoroughly, “And for future reference, I always mean everything that comes out of my mouth.”

“Good,” Zayn says, not breaking eye contact.

“So, now you know I meant it,” he says, “Will you still not say something back?”

“Oh wait, I suddenly can’t remember what you said,” Zayn says, mischief wavers beneath his eyes as his lips curve back up into a smirk, “You’ll have to remind me.”

“I am not saying it again,” he says, “It’s your turn.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Zayn shrugs, turning away from him.

Liam’s eyes though, they like gazing into Zayn’s, so he reaches out and grabs Zayn’s bicep, turning him back to face him, as roughly as he can, face so close to him he can count his every breath.

“Don’t make me suffer more than you already have,” he glares at Zayn, watching the mischievous expression on Zayn’s face turn to one of complete surprise.

“Alright,” Zayn says in a whisper that falls hotly, invitingly, on his lips, “If you want to hear me say it, you’ll have to draw it out of me.”

Zayn jerks his bicep out of his hand, turning away again, going towards his dresser while every vein in Liam’s body throbs to have him close again. His blood propels his feet to step forward, walking until he has reached Zayn. He twists him around again, and pushes him against the dresser, crowding into his space, gripping his arms with both of his hands. Zayn keeps looking into his eyes, lips parted open as he stands pressed between Liam’s body and the dresser. His hair fall over his forehead, his dark brown eyes stare back at Liam, unblinking. He makes every inch of Liam’s existence burn; he makes everything that Liam feels heighten.

Moving in, Liam opens his mouth and crushes his lips against Zayn’s parted ones. He says goodbye to sanity as his tongue meets Zayn’s, and he pushes his own against it, delving deeper into the contours of Zayn’s mouth. He licks the seams, traces his teeth, curls his tongue around Zayn’s; keeps on exploiting until Zayn finally lets out a moan, pressing the entire length of his body against Liam’s, until they’re not even a millimeter apart, only layers of futile clothing separating skin from skin.

He slides his hands down from Zayn’s biceps to his slim waist, while Zayn’s hands instantly come up to go around his neck, one hand resting on the back of his head, fingers tangling into his short hair, clutching. He kisses all over Zayn’s mouth, pecking his upper lip, his lower lip, before his mouth makes its way all the way down to his exposed neck. He opens his eyes for a second, only to take in the two small dragon tattoos that cover Zayn’s collarbone, before he is sucking there, his teeth coming in contact with brown skin and right above his right ear, he hears Zayn moan again. It’s outright loud this time, making him bite into skin harder.

Making his way back up to Zayn’s mouth, he places a wet kiss on his lips; still parted and swollen, looking obscene in all the right ways, before he cups Zayns’ face in his hand, making Zayn’s arm slide off his neck, coming down to rest on his chest, and says, “Open your eyes.”

Zayn’s eyelashes flutter open, revealing nothing but a blatant look of arousal in his eyes, as he stares up at Liam, his face warm and soft.

“Say it,” he demands in a firm whisper, impatient to hear Zayn admit how he feels.

“No,” Zayn breathes out, proceeding to dig his teeth in his bottom lip, “Not so easily.”

He lets out an impatient grunt at that, already too worked up, pressed this close to Zayn. The only person who has ever made him feel so weak and empowered at the same time, he can’t even understand. He can feel himself all hard for Zayn, and he knows Zayn can too. There is no way Zayn doesn’t judging how there is zero space between them. And he is well aware of the fact that Zayn is as hard for him as he is.

Again, he turns Zayn around in his arms, making him face away from him towards the mirror, this time pressing his front to the dresser. He watches Zayn’s face in the reflection from above his right shoulder, Zayn looking right back at him, never looking anywhere but at him. Slowly, he snakes his arms around Zayn’s waist, until they reach the belt buckle that holds Zayn’s robe together. A part of him is expecting Zayn to reach for his hands and stop him, but Zayn doesn’t move at all; keeps staring straight into the mirror, at Liam’s image, his chest heaving as he breathes deeply.

He unbuckles Zayn’s belt and lets it go. It falls down at their feet with a soft thump. And Liam’s breath gets stuck somewhere when Zayn’s robe falls open, to reveal his chest, sparkling with sweat under the candlelight. In a smooth swift motion, he clutches the collar of his robe, and slides it off Zayn’s body. As expected, he is wearing nothing underneath, standing exposed in front of Liam. His back is as toned as his front, curved and ridged at all the right places, his petite bottom a treasure to Liam’s eyes.

A dragon is what covers one of his sleeves, the left one, its face covering all of Zayn’s shoulder, twisted spiky tail splattered over his left shoulder blade. Leaning in, he presses his lips to the tattoo and Zayn sucks in a breath, his hands going up to clutch the edge of the dresser. He traces Zayn’s tattoo with kisses, soft touches that linger for ages; kisses all over his shoulder until he comes back to the hollow of his neck. Clutching Zayn’s hair in his hand, he pulls a little, making his head tilt backwards, exposing the curve of his neck for his teeth to devour in. He sucks another mark there, making sloppy noises that drown somewhere in Zayn’s pleasure filled moans.

He presses himself against Zayn’s back, nudging his clothed dick against Zayn’s ass. That is when Zayn groans, low and impatient, twisting himself in his arms to face him. He doesn’t get a chance to glance below, glorify his eyes with the sight of Zayn’s dick, because suddenly Zayn is all over him.

Small hands, with long fingers, clutch his face as Zayn bites his lips, making noises outright dirty, his tongue ravishing Liam’s mouth. He pushes into Liam, causing him to stumble backwards as his hands slide down from the sides of Liam’s face to unbuckle his leather belt as hastily as he can. Creating distance between them, Zayn grabs the hem of his tunic and frantically removes it off his body. Feeling defeated Liam obliges, assisting Zayn in undressing him, as his eyes finally fall on Zayn’s penis. Hanging thick and hard between his slender legs, curved upwards at the end. The next moment, Zayn is untying his trousers letting them fall down around his feet, as he gets out of them, kicking off his sandals in the process.

It is when Zayn straightens back up and looks back into his eyes that he realizes how he is absolutely naked, standing in front of an equally naked Zayn, his dick almost leaking between his legs. But he doesn’t shift his eyes away from Zayn’s face, who keeps staring intensely right back into them, before closing the distance between them in one rapid move. Arms; lean yet strong, go back around his neck as Zayn’s chest presses against his and the slim man clings to him, standing up on his tiptoes before kissing him lightly on the lips, resting his nose against his. He feels Zayn’s dick against his, both their members sandwiched between their bodies, his breath hitching in his throat, as Zayn just gazes at him from beneath the eyelashes that have been making his life harder since the moment his eyes had met them.

“Your eyes are the best that I have seen,” he says, placing his hands on either side of Zayn’s waist.

Zayn smiles, and then he’s kissing him again, not bothering to shut his eyes this time. He moves from Liam’s mouth to his jaw, and then Zayn’s trailing kisses all the way down to his chest, his palms flat on his abdomen. He lets go off Zayn’s waist, when Zayn falls down on his knees right in front of him, his penis only centimeters away from Zayn’s thick, red lips; something he wasn’t expecting to happen. Something he didn’t know would make such a pleasing, arousing picture. Fingers twist around both his wrists, as Zayn holds them in place, and then the unthinkable happens when Zayn sticks out his tongue and licks the tip of his dick.

His hands clench into fists, Zayn’s grip tightening around his wrists as he opens his mouth and wraps it around Liam’s dick. Never breaking eye contact. Zayn’s mouth is warm around his member, his tongue licking broad strokes up and down. He inhales and exhales as he watches Zayn’s spit covered lip stretch wide around his dick, which sinks in and out of his mouth, smoothly. Zayn slides his mouth completely of his dick, giving his head a few kitten licks before he is taking it back in. This time, he takes it in further, his cheeks hollowing, a line of spit trailing down his chin, glassy eyes stuck on Liam’s.

When he feels the tip of his dick hit the back of Zayn’s throat, he nearly falls apart right there. It literally takes everything in his power to not thrust into Zayn’s mouth and to not come apart all over Zayn’s face, right here standing, weak in Zayn’s hands, the veins on his penis throbbing under Zayn’s tongue. Who for the love of god, keeps looking up at him with doe-like eyes, a hint of hunger in them Liam has never seen before. Zayn slides his mouth off his dick, biting his bottom lip before he starts to go in again.

But he doesn’t let him. He takes a step back. Zayn looks at him confused, before taking a step forward on his knees. Zayn’s own member is as thick as it was before, beads of precum covering the head, glistening for Liam to see. Liam takes another step back, Zayn repeating his action too. He moves back until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, and then he’s sitting down, his legs open wide, Zayn letting go of his wrists and settling between them, understanding what he had been doing. Zayn bends again, his mouth closing in on Liam’s dick but he stops him.

His hands cup his face, tilting it upwards before he hungrily smashes his lips against Zayn’s. He licks into Zayn’s open mouth, Zayn letting him, placing his hands on Liam’s thighs. Then, he snakes his hands below Zayn’s armpits, trying to hoist him up. Zayn gets the message, rising on his feet, before he is straddling Liam, his dick resting against his between their abdomens, legs going around Liam’s waist. His lips don’t leave Zayn’s for a single second, ravishing the warm mouth, committing the taste to memory. He holds Zayn close to himself, their chests crushing together, dicks sliding against one another as Zayn moans in his throat, sending shivers down Liam’s body.

There is heat in the pit of his stomach, shooting everywhere, his brain in frenzy. Zayn sucks on his bottom lip, before taking it between his teeth and biting into it. He growls then, the want in his being overpowering the patience as he shifts, standing up and turning around, Zayn wrapped around him. He falls with Zayn, on the bed, Zayn beneath him, his back pressed against the bed sheets, as he hovers above him, gazing straight into his eyes.

“You do not know how beautiful you are,” he says, scanning his face, bringing a hand up to brush his hair off his eyes.

“And you do not know how much I want you right now,” Zayn says hoarsely, his hand slides down to his left nipple, his finger twisting around the bud

The animalistic growl that escapes Liam’s throat is foreign and new, but it propels him to thrust his fingers in Zayn’s mouth without any warning, urging him to suck on them. Zayn does, making a show out of it, licking his three middle fingers one by one until they are covered from bottom to tip in saliva.

Liam reaches down, watching anticipation cloud Zayn’s eyes, until he reaches Zayn’s hole. Zayn bites on his bottom lip, nodding a little at him, as he rubs against the tight ring before breaching it with his index finger. Zayn moans a little, wincing, when he puts another finger deep inside. Zayn’s whole is tight around his digits, he doesn’t even know if Zayn has ever done this before, and he doesn’t trust himself to form full words to even ask. What he does know is that Zayn would stop him if he did something wrong, and when Zayn doesn’t, he scissors his fingers inside his warmth, relaxing his hole as much as he can.

When it’s wide enough that three of Liam’s fingers easily vanish inside it, Liam pulls them out, in one sudden move. Zayn’s bottom lip is swollen and raw from the incessant digging of his teeth in it, Zayn’s hands gripping his shoulders, as he aligns his leaking dick with Zayn’s hole and then pushes inside. Zayn throws his head back, veins running up his neck, pulsing blood, when Liam keeps pushing inside, until his dick is completely submerged in the tight heat of Zayn’s body.

He pulls out, pushing back in – again and again. Until Zayn’s nails dig into his shoulders, a string of explicit moans flow out of his obscene mouth. Liam’s hand goes around Zayn’s dick, and he congratulates himself on the move because it makes Zayn tremble beneath him, his back arching, his teeth sinking back into his bottom lip. Stroking Zayn’s dick, pushing in and out of him, he sets up a rhythm that causes Zayn to writhe underneath him, tremors shaking his body, his eyes crunching shut, nails digging into Liam’s shoulders.

Leaning in, he kisses Zayn’s jaw, his hand sliding up and down Zayn’s dick. He thrusts in, harder every time, eliciting louder moans from Zayn. Then suddenly, Liam changes his angle, his dick slamming against Zayn’s prostrate when he thrusts inside. Zayn lets out a scream, biting his tongue to stop it midway and Liam kisses the tip of his nose before thrusting in again.

“Liam,” Zayn speaks for the first time, “Oh my god, Liam!”

Liam does it again; hitting Zayn’s prostrate in one rough thrust.

Zayn curses this time, his head thrown back, his hair matted to his forehead, chest sweating against Liam’s.

And then Liam pulls halfway out, and stops. Pauses. Goes completely still. He watches Zayn open his eyes, a lot expression on his face.

“Liam, wh-”

“Say it, say it now,” he demands, twisting his hips.

“Liam pl-”

“Say. It,” he twists his hips again, presses a thumb over Zayn’s dickhead, causing Zayn to moan in distress.

Zayn’s hands move from his shoulder to his face, presses his hands to Liam’s cheeks, and gazes into Liam’s eyes, intense and genuine and filled to the brim with desire, infatuation.

“I love you too,” he finally says, voice hoarse.

To his amazement, every bone inside his body melts at that, his brain nearly stops working, heart pounding against his chest like a hammer against a gong. And he thrusts inside all the way in, feeling his dick swell inside Zayn, stretching the walls around it. Zayn brings Liam’s face down hard, joining their lips together again and he feels something wet dripping down his hand as Zayn’s dick pulsates all over his fingers. He shoves his tongue inside Zayn’s mouth, fighting a friendly yet fierce battle with Zayn’s tongue and then shoots his load inside Zayn. Zayn moans in his mouth, digging his nails behind his neck, arching his back so that every part of him touches Liam.

They stay like that for a few moments; he feels like he has lost the ability to move and Zayn is breathing heavily into his neck, arms still wounded around it. He tangles his clean hand in Zayn’s hair, slightly caressing his scalp. He doesn’t want to pull out of Zayn yet, he likes the way it’s hard to tell where he begins and Zayn ends. But he knows he has to. He pulls Zayn’s face out of his neck, letting Zayn’s head fall back on the bed, his hand still in his hair. Zayn looks straight into his eyes again, satisfied, delightful. Gradually, he pulls out of Zayn, smiling tenderly when Zayn winces a little. He wonders how Zayn’s hole must be looking right now; wrecked, dripping with him. But he doesn’t check, Zayn’s magnetic gaze keeping him in place.

“I love you,” he says, it’s out of his mouth again without his consent.

“I love you too,” Zayn says instantly this time, his cheeks going up in a wide grin.

“It’s strange,” he says.

“What is?”

“I never thought I was ever going to care this much about someone,” he rubs Zayn’s scalp, feeling the wet mess Zayn made on their abdomens but he doesn’t care, “So much that when you’re not in my sight, there is a constant nagging in my chest to find out where you are. What you are doing, if you are fine, if you are happy- I am so gone for you. If this is not love, I don’t know what is.”

Zayn chuckles, places his palm over his thumping heart, “And I never thought I would like someone to feel like that about me. I didn’t know I’d like someone to take care of me, and I had not seen it coming when my heart stopped the first time you touched me. I didn’t want you to take your hands off me, ever.”

“Do you feel my heart beating?” he smiles down, when Zayn presses his palm harder on his chest.

“I do,” Zayn smiles, earnestly.

“All those beats are for you,” he says, “Just for you.”

Zayn takes a sharp breath, “Then all of me is for you. Because you Liam Snow, you were what was missing from my life and I didn’t even know.”

He leans in, placing a kiss at the center of Zayn’s forehead, wondering how his heart got big enough to hold so much love for one person.

“You are the moon of my life,” he whispers against Zayn’s eyelids, placing kisses on top of each.

“You are my sun and stars,” he hears Zayn whisper against his lips, before he takes them under his again.

—-

He blinks his eyes open in the confinement of warm arms. There is a nose pressed to the side of his cheek, gusts of hot breath hitting his skin. He has his head nestled on top of Liam’s left arm, his right arm lying heavy over his stomach, four arrows tattooed on it staring Zayn in the face.  
  
Turning his face towards Liam, their noses touching, their breaths mixing, he can't help but smile. Liam’s face glows in the sunlight that enters through the high windows, spreading throughout the room illuminating everything in its wake. Bathing Liam in its warmth- more like merging in with the warmth that always seems to be radiating out of Liam. His short brown hair sticking out from his head, his wide forehead devoid of any lines, the bed covers pooling around his waist. Zayn’s smile doesn’t waver. He smiles at Liam’s sleeping form, at his gentle snores, at fate; at how interesting and unpredictable it can be. A month or two ago, there wasn't even a glimpse of Liam in his life and now, there is no life without Liam in it.  
  
Zayn moves closer to Liam, not appreciating the minute space between their bodies. Sliding his hand out from where it lies between them he pokes his finger out to trace the four arrows tenderly. They are the shape of wide thick V’s, all pointing towards Liam’s wrist. He wonders why Liam got them, how he got them, when he got them. Wonders if Liam would tell him later if he asks.

“My brothers and sisters,” a low whisper startles him.  
  
He looks at Liam, to find him smiling at him, eyes crinkled up at the edges, singlehandedly the most adorable thing Zayn has ever laid eyes on.  
  
“Good morning,” he says, shifting his head to kiss Liam’s nose again.  
  
“I love you,” Liam replies, catching his lips with his instead.  
  
He stays glued to Liam’s lips for a blissful moment or two, each and every one of his senses focused on the warm, wet press. When Liam pulls back he’s still smiling, his fingers start to draw irregular shapes over Zayn’s stomach.

“You got these because of your siblings?” he asks him, his fingers tracing the outline of an inked arrow.

“Yes,” Liam says, “As a reminder, to keep me fighting for them. To have them with me even when they aren’t. This one’s for Robb.”

Zayn slides his finger over to the next one.

“That is Sansa.”

To the next one.

“Arya.”

Next.

“Bran.”

“And you don’t know where they are?”

“Robb is dead. I know that for sure,” Liam says, sorrow flashing through his eyes, “But Sansa, Arya and Bran are out there. I know.”

“They are,” he smiles at him, nudging his nose with his.

“Alright your turn,” Liam says, “Tell me about your tattoos.”

“I already told you why I got the sigil, the snake, and these,” he holds his left hand up, displaying the intricate black design that covers his wrist and dorsal, “Well, once I got these I wanted more. But I wanted something which had a lot of meaning in my life, and not a lot of things do. So this here,” he points to the two little dragons guarding his collarbone, “Arien and Hazzael.” Then, he points to the black, red eyed dragon painted over his left arm, “And this, large one right here-”

“Drogon,” Liam completes for him.

“Yes,” he says, “Drogon.”

“So only your dragons are of any meaning to you?” Liam asks.

And Zayn knows what he wants him to say. That is exactly why he doesn’t say it.

“Not really, no,” he says, “Harry does too. But Hazzael reminds me of Harry, so this tattoo suffices for both.”

“Alright,” Liam says, leans closer, presses his forehead against Zayn’s, “That’s it?”

“Well, I don’t have any family,” he says, feigning contemplation, “So I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Which means that there is no other person?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“You are doing this on purpose aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Liam shakes his head, there is disappointment on his face before he slides his arm out from underneath Zayn’s head letting it fall on the pillow, and turns his back on him, going to face the other side.

Quickly, Zayn scurries over to him, propping himself up on his right elbow to put his left arm around Liam’s waist, and rest his chin on Liam’s shoulder. Liam doesn't look back at him, stares resolutely at the wall.

When his mouth is close to Liam’s ear, he whispers, “You know what, I would get a wolf tattooed on myself too, for this man who recently came into my life out of nowhere. But he is kind of already tattooed all over my heart, over my every vein. So I don’t see the point.”

He watches Liam’s face break into a grin, sees red creep all over his cheeks as Liam turns his face towards his, giving Zayn a chance to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“You are wicked, you know that?” Liam says, “You make me suffer only to make me love you more the next moment?”

“Which is good,” he says, “You should love me more because one day my heart is going to explode of all the feelings you have caused to grow in there.”

“I won’t let it explode. I will take care of it,” he says, “As long as I live.”

He pecks him on the cheek again, smiling so hard his entire face aches.

“And I will love you, as long as I do.”

“Alright, since we have settled that,” Liam shifts, opening his arms so that Zayn nestles into them, resting his cheek above Liam’s left nipple, throwing his arm over Liam’s stomach as Liam’s wind around him, “Let us stay here for a moment, before Harry comes to get you and you spend your entire day talking to Louis about war and blood. And I stare at you and admire you from afar, not being able to hold you like this.”

“If you were to hold me like this in front of Harry and Louis, I doubt I would get any work done.”

Liam chuckles, drops a kiss on his head, “That is why, let's stay here. For as long as we can.”

“I am not complaining,” he sighs, tickling Liam below the belly button.

“Good,” Liam says, “Because even if you did complain, I wouldn't have let you escape.”

He laughs lightly, feeling Liam’s arms tighten around him, and whispers, “I do not think I will ever want any kind of escape or exit from you.”

—-

Zayn is bent over a huge map that covers a quarter of the mahogany table while Louis stands beside him, trailing his fingers over the map, discussing routes with Zayn. He sits in a chair, looking over the map, but only really looking at Zayn’s hands that lie palms flat on the table, trying to understand what Louis is saying about The Narrow Sea.

“-so if they know we are coming and meet us halfway here, your dragons can burn their ships letting them fall in the water. How will they fight us while they try not to drown?”

“Firstly, Louis, and for the thousandth time, we are not attacking without notifying, I will send a raven to Kings Landing before my army leaves here, so they will know we are coming,” Zayn says, “I want to fight this war justly.”

“Robert Baratheon didn’t care about justice when he took the throne from your family,” Louis counters, “Also, if we attack without notifying them, we have an advantage! Liam, tell him!”

Louis turns towards him, a helpless look on his face.

Before he can even respond, Zayn states in his most resolute voice, “I don’t answer injustice with injustice. And either you can agree with that, or leave. Also we don’t need an advantage; there is no way I am losing this war.”

Zayn glances at Liam at the last sentence, a knowing look in his eyes that Liam so fully understands.

“I stand with Zayn,” he says, “We will take them down, no matter if it’s at sea or land.”

“Alright then,” Louis says, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I am sure a situation like that won’t arise,” Zayn says, confidently.

He is not even listening anymore; he is just in awe of Zayn. It’s not like he wasn’t before, it’s just that now he knows Zayn more. He knows the boy who curls up into his body at night, and he knows the man who towers over Louis with his morals and judgments standing upright above his shoulders. He marvels over which Zayn he fell in love with first; the one with a look of despair sitting on the stairs that led to the dragon pit or the one who stares in his eyes at night, when he is on top of him, head thrown back, nails digging into Liam’s chest or the one who wears a gold band around his head, his chin up high at all times and commands an entire army of The Unsullied. And then he realizes, it’s all of them. It’s every Zayn. He fell in love all versions of Zayn, one by one, until he had submitted to him wholly.

He is pulled out of his thoughts by the sudden opening of the iron door. Three heads turn in unison towards the disturbance to find Harry and Niall barging in, frantic expressions on their faces.  
  
“ _Khal_ \- _Khal_ -,” Harry says to Zayn, trying to catch his breath while Liam scans Niall’s eyes, worried and horrified.  
  
“What is it Hazza?” Zayn asks, moving towards Harry, a concerned look on his face, "Is everything alright, are you alright?"  
  
“We got a raven from Kings Landing,” Harry speaks in between heavy breaths, “They know about our plans already, they are already approaching Meereen with an army of forty thousand men.”  
  
He stands up on his feet at that, watching color drain away from Zayn’s face.

“What? How did they find out? We weren't planning to attack for a week- there is no way they-” Zayn stops in his words. Liam watches as he clenches his fists and then turns to face Louis, “Did you do this?”  
  
There is menace in Zayn’s voice, his nostrils flare as he takes steps towards Louis and Liam now understands how the dragons aren’t the only reason why Zayn is called the Father of Dragons. He is a dragon in human flesh. Eyes threatening, body language predatory as he glowers over Louis who looks at him, disbelief on his face.  
  
“I am not a god damn fool,” Louis says, his voice small, “I would never.”  
  
“Do not lie to me,” Zayn grits through his teeth, “If you did th-”  
  
“He didn’t do it,” Harry cuts him off, “He didn’t.”  
  
“Well, how else do you explain this then?” Zayn turns around, gives Harry a stern look at which Harry winces.  
  
“Because we know who it was,” Harry says.  
  
“Who?” he asks.  
  
“Ser Winston,” Niall answers him, his voice small, fearful eyes fixed on Zayn's demeaning figure.  
  
“No,” Zayn says in a loud whisper, “No that can’t be.”  
  
“He is nowhere to be found,” Niall continues, “We searched his chambers, all his belongings are gone.”  
  
“He was probably spying since the day he came here,” Harry adds.  
  
There is a lost expression on Zayn's face, he keeps shaking his head as if unable to believe the fact that one of his most trusted advisors had just stabbed him in the back. But then in a single moment the mask of disbelief turns into one of utter ferocity, and once again, Liam is in awe. Zayn looks straight at Harry, straightening up his bent, defeated posture into that of boldness and fortitude.  
  
“Announce to the people of Meereen that we are at war,” Zayn orders Harry, “Inform the sailors to ready the battleships. Tell my soldiers to get ready to attack. I'll meet them outside the Pyramid. And be fast.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Harry nods hastily before he is turning around and running off.  
  
“Niall I want you to go and gather Liam’s army, gather your ships and animals at the deck. Inform them we leave for Kings Landing right now.”  
  
Liam nods at Niall and Niall too runs off to do his task.  
  
Then Zayn turns to Louis and him, authoritative and meaningful, “We take then down at The Narrow Sea. When we reach land, if there are still people to crush, we crush. Louis and I will lead The Unsullied, and you Liam, I want you to lead your men. You know the plan, you know what to do, exactly when to attack. You are sure you can manage it?”  
  
“Yes, absolutely,” he nods instantly, “Don’t worry Zayn, they may be a step ahead, but they aren't as strong as we are. According to the information Louis gave us regarding their weapons and animals, they are almost nothing compared to what we have.”  
  
“Speaking of Louis,” Louis says looking at Zayn solemnly, “Don’t you think Louis deserves an apology of some sort for being falsely accused of betraying someone who he considers a friend?”  
  
Liam is expecting Zayn to tell him off, or ignore him completely but then remembers how Zayn has this knack of surprising him.  
  
“I am sorry Louis,” Zayn apologizes, sincerity on his face, “But you can’t blame me, I-”  
  
“Alright I don't blame you,” Louis says, “I am a Lannister, I know why you would think I did it. But you actually said sorry, and my heart has melted. So I will help you win this battle, I will fight for you till my last breath.”  
  
“There won’t be a last breath,” Zayn says, “Don’t worry.”  
  
“Well, I will choose to believe you because that’s comforting,” Louis says, “I think I need to go get ready now. I have two siblings to take down.”  
  
Then Louis is walking out, after a short salute to Zayn. When he is left completely alone with Zayn does he move towards him.  
  
“I know I don't need to tell you this,” he says, taking Zayn’s ink covered hand in his, “But it's going to be fine. We are going to win this.”  
  
Zayn smiles at him, curtly, eyes softening when they look into his, “I know. I know I am going to win because I want to do this for you more than I want to do this for myself.”  
  
“What?” he asks, tightening his grip around Zayn’s hand, his heartbeat already preparing to run a marathon.  
  
“I promise you Liam Snow. I will get The Iron Throne and Winterfell. And once this kingdom is ours, we will track down Sansa, Arya and Bran. And you will have your family back, I promise you that.”  
  
He searches his face for a speck of nervousness but there isn't any, Zayn's brown eyes are earnest- and it fills his heart with so much love, he is overwhelmed beyond description. And so he leans in and he kisses Zayn right on the lips.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers against his lips, “You don't know how much I love you.”  
  
“I know,” Zayn whispers back, “Stay safe Liam, on the battlefield. Stay safe. You have to come back to me, I want you back alive, just like this, with your breath falling on my face after it’s all over. So stay safe.”  
  
“I will,” he promises, “You too, stay safe.”  
  
“Don’t worry about me, I have three dragons,” he says, “And I have you as my biggest strength. So I will be safe as long as you are.”  
  
He presses his lips against Zayn’s again, there are tears resting behind his eyes and he doesn't know why so he holds them back and smiles down at Zayn instead, “Well, I suppose being your strength is better than your weakness.”  
  
“That you are too,” Zayn smiles up at him, “That is what makes it worse.”

And what’s worse than Zayn’s response is that Liam completely understands what it means.

-

He fights like he has never fought before, viciously, with all his power. Fends every attack that is aimed at him, going in for the kill every time. He doesn't want to take chances, he promised Zayn he would keep himself alive and Liam has always been a man of his word.  
  
They had met the rival army in the middle of The Narrow Sea, when he had seen the large number of battleships at first his heart had sunk because the fleet of ships was vast, covering all water in his sight. But then there was a whistle, a familiar call, and he had watched Hazzael and Arien rise from their respective ships. He had watched at the horrified faces of the opponent army, as they readied their arrows to shoot at Zayn’s dragons and he had seen the arrows fly at Hazzael and Arien, burning in mid air right after Zayn’s loud call of, “ _Dracarys_!”  
  
It was simply their battle from there. The gold and emerald dragons burnt down the battleships in no time. The sails aflame, the wood ablaze, the weaponry damaged. People jumping off the ships into the water, some drowning, some pulled up by Zayn’s men as captives. Allowed to live but not allowed to fight, none brave enough to stand up against the handler of fire-breathing beasts.  
  
Then, Zayn had moved ahead, clad in a silver armor, protected from head to toe. Louis and Harry beside him, an army of twenty thousand Unsullied and another ten to fifteen thousand local soldiers behind him. While Liam had to stay back with his five thousand men; the strategy was to let the enemy believe that Zayn’s men were all they had. And then for Liam to attack all of a sudden, bringing five thousand men into the battlefield out of nowhere. Nobody had known if the plan would even work, but the number of men was only thing they had that Winston didn't know about.  
  
And then after waiting for a good two hours, Liam had begun his journey towards Kings Landing starting from the middle of The Narrow Sea, leading an army of five thousand men, and a restless direwolf. When they reached land, the battle was already in full swing and he, with his men, had jumped right in. Not before spotting Louis and Harry, fighting back to back, swords moving swiftly as men in gold armors fell down around them. Not before making sure that Zayn was alive, busy in a fierce duel, right in the middle of utter chaos and clouds of disturbed sand, aggressively attacking none other than Dihahs Lannister himself. As Hazzael and Arien flew overhead, circling the battlefield, doing a good job of inducing fear in the hearts of their enemy, waiting for Zayn to give them an order.  
  
And now he is blocking attack after attack, beheading one man, driving his sword through another’s stomach. His men are scattered all around him, taking down their opponents. Loki growling mercilessly, ripping heads of men guarding Liam’s back. Two men come at him at the same time, swords swinging, teeth bared, and he throws them both off with rapid swings of his own sword; cutting a deep gash on one’s leg causing him to fall on his knees in front of Loki’s ravenous eyes, putting his sword through the others abdomen, flinching at the sound of steel sinking into flesh but throwing all conscience to hell when his eyes catch Winston in between the chaos. Charging towards Zayn.  
  
Zayn who is completely unaware, Zayn who is attacking Dihahs, with full force. All his attention focused on him, strike after strike after strike, adamant for victory.  
  
“Loki, Zayn!” he alerts his direwolf, before he himself is running towards Winston, Loki running past him like a flash a moment later, making a dash for where Zayn is. He watches Loki jump between Winston and Zayn, Winston stopping in his tracks, pointing his sword at Loki as Loki growls at him, savagely. Liam is there before Loki can pounce on the traitor, swaying his sword at Winston. He fights with all his might, swords clashing together with Winston’s without a pause. With Loki’s help, it doesn’t take him long to have Winston down on his knees, his sword in between Loki’s teeth, the direwolf’s red eyes staring fiercely at him. And then Winston’s head is flying off his body, just not by Liam’s sword.

The headless body falls down at Louis’ feet, as Liam looks up at his enraged face. He looks back at Liam, fire dancing in his eyes, smudges of dust and bronze blood on his face.

“Come on we need to hurry towards the castle!” Louis shouts at him, beckoning him with his hand as he starts to charge towards the red rock castle that is prominent on the east it’s towers touching the skyline.

“Where is Zayn?” is all Liam asks, when he notices how Dihahs and Zayn are nowhere to be seen, starting to follow Louis’ lead, Loki running beside him, protecting him from the madness going all around him.

A man comes out of nowhere for him and Louis, but with a perfect reflexive swing of his sword, Louis sends him falling down armless, continuing to charge forward.

“He is the one who asked me to get our men and head towards Red Keep,” Louis shouts back at him, both of them dodging attacks, fragments of wood and metal flying at them from nowhere, “He handed my defeated bleeding brother to me and Harry, and asked us to alert our men, all of us to head to the Red Keep as fast as we can.”

“Where are Harry and Dihahs?” he asks loudly, just as Louis shouts at a few of their men and points at the castle mouthing, ‘ _Go, go_!’

“Both Harry and Niall are dragging him to the castle, I came to get you, Zayn asked not to leave you behind,” Louis answers back, keeping up his pace, informing as much men as he can on the way, “Now if you could help me out in getting every one of us back there safely, I don’t know what Zayn is up to, but he was adamant we take all our men back! So come on!”

Louis starts shouting orders right, left and center, signaling for their men to follow him. Liam joins in, having no other choice, his eyes searching the battlefield for Zayn. Just in case, he looks up at the sky too, for Zayn could be riding behind a dragon’s back but Hazzael and Arien are already flying around the towers of Red Keep. Nobody on their backs. After witnessing a lot of men falling on either side of him, the enemy still attacking with full force even when Dihahs has been taken down, they finally reach the magnificent castle gates, which have already been thrown open.  
  
“Inside,” Louis yells to the soldiers around him, “Don’t let the enemy enter the castle!”  
  
The men of Meereen and the Unsullied, dressed from head to toe in black armor, turn around on their feet, making sure no man in a gold armor enters Red Keep while he rushes into the castle with Louis, followed by a swarm of his surviving men as the enemy continues to attack the people still outside the gate.  
  
“How are we supposed to shut the gates if almost half of our men are outside?” Louis asks him, once inside, as they both put their swords back into their sheaths, “Zayn would kill me if I just let them die!”

“Yes, but where _is_ Zayn?” he asks, because that is the only thing on his mind right now, Zayn disappearing wasn’t a part of their plan; he didn’t know anything about this happening.

“For the last time Liam, I don’t know, I am only following orders,” Louis says, “Now tell me quick, how do you get these dragons to do shit?”

Louis points to Arien and Hazzael, and Liam knows where he is going with this. He actually seconds the idea, “You command them in Dothraki, but I don’t think they will listen to anyone but Zayn.”

“Fuck me then,” Louis grumbles, “We have to close the gates as soon as possible and we have no ide-”

“Wait,” he cuts Louis off, a thought coming to his mind, one he doubts would work but it is worth a try. He turns around spotting his direwolf immediately, “Loki! Tell Hazzael and Arien to drive the enemy away from the gates, can you do that? Everyone who is wearing gold, away from the castle gates!”

Loki stares intensely into his eyes for a long moment, he can feel the familiar sensation of warmth in his chest and then Loki tilts his head upwards, letting out the loudest howl Liam has ever heard him produce. The reaction of Hazzael and Arien to the sound is immediate, they turn their heads towards the howl immediately and then Loki howls twice again, before turning on his feet and running out the castle gates. Hazzael and Arien keep their eyes on him, and then with a loud whoosh, dash after him, following his lead.

“I never thought I would see a dragon following a wolf’s orders, if I am being honest,” Louis says to Liam, “This just keeps getting bizarre.”

“They like each other,” he says, watching the enemy start to retreat when it sees two large dragons, covered in endless spikes and horns speeding towards them, “It is unusual but they like Loki. Even I don’t understand it, I don’t think I ever will.”

Louis makes a small affirmative noise, as more and more soldiers enter through the castle gates. Arien, Hazzael and Loki driving the enemy away, letting the men of Meereen run past them to safety. Once majority of their men are inside, only a layer of gold in view outside the castle gates, Louis says, “Come on, help me shut the gates!”

Sprinting towards the massive gates even before Liam can respond. Having no choice he speeds after Louis, “But what about Zayn?”

“I swear to god Liam, if you ask me one more time about Zayn,” Louis says, annoyed, clearly having no clue as to where Zayn is.

Having no other choice, he shuts his mouth, keeping his worry on the low. Together, with a help of a few men, they manage to pull the iron gates shut with a loud slam, Loki running inside last minute. The moment the doors shut, Louis turns and starts to run inside along with the many men.

“Where are you going?” he shouts at Louis, confused as to what is going on anymore. Zayn seems to have vanished into thin air, Louis seems to have taken all the charge – he is not following anything right now. He wants to see Zayn, wants to know what is happening.

“My sister is still inside you know that,” Louis stops in his steps, facing him, giving him an incredulous expression, as if he is the one who has gone mad when nothing around him makes sense anymore, “You might not think she is capable of much, but I am telling you she is fucking savage! She made my life hell for twenty five years, we have to take her down too if we want Kings Landing!”

“Zayn is still not here,” he shouts at Louis, furious now, because why isn’t Zayn’s absence a big deal, why is Louis not concerned about Zayn, why is everyone acting like Zayn doesn’t exist, nothing feels right without Zayn.

“Liam we are in the middle of a war,” Louis shouts back, “And Zayn, our leader, told us to do some fucking shit which I am hell bent on doing! I didn’t have time to ask him where he was going and why because I trust his judgments! Now, if you want to be of any use then help me. Or you can fuck off and go search for Zayn who probably is doing something right now to win this fucking war!”

Then Louis is aggressively turning away, not waiting for him to answer, leaving him there standing, fists clenched on either side, fuming. He glances out the gates; the sun is shining down on the many men that Hazzael and Arien keep away from the castle grounds. He wonders where Zayn is, why Zayn didn’t give him a heads up before disappearing. Wonders if Zayn is alright. And then assures himself that he is, because he can feel it in his chest. If Zayn was in danger he is sure he would have felt something snap inside. He is sure.

So, he takes a deep breath, picks his disoriented self together, and runs inside, to help Louis take down his sister. He can recall her name, Nomis Lannister, can recall meeting her once, an eternity ago when she had visited her father at Winterfell. Remembers prominent cheekbones, the face of elegance and chicanery. When he reaches the courtyard, he finds a tower standing right in the middle of the castle grounds. Touching the sky, a large lion head made entirely out of red rock attached at the very top. A number of Unsullied circling it, Louis and Harry in the middle, Dihahs kneeling beside them. He makes his way over to Louis, and when Louis looks at him approaching he says, “I am glad you decided to come.”

“Where is your sister?” he asks, his mind set on finishing what Zayn had started, so that he can go search for Zayn after all this.

“Up there,” Louis says, signaling at the tower, “We don’t know how to get up there, since there is only one door that leads up to this tower and only she knows where it is.”

“Doesn’t your brother?”

“She got it made for herself,” Dihahs croaks out, “She didn’t ever tell me.”

“Can you not get her to surrender?” he asks the defeated man.

“She will not surrender,” Dihahs says.

“Even I know that,” Louis says.

“We could bring the tower down,” Harry suggests.

“I would if I hadn’t promised Zayn that I’d not kill her,” Louis says, “Trust me, that was my first thought too.”

“So then we wait for Zayn?” he asks.

“What else can we do? Our men are all over the castle, we have already taken down the king’s guards, I have already done everything Zayn had asked me to,” Louis answers, “We wait for an order now.”

“Did he tell you where he went?” Liam asks Harry.

Harry shakes his head at him, looking as helpless as Louis. He wishes he had a way or method of contacting Zayn, watching Dihahs still clutching his slashed wrist to his chest, Loki circling around him, as Louis and Harry talk in murmurs beside him.

And then he suddenly hears screams, dreadful and bloodcurdling, that come into the castle penetrating through the walls. He watches heads turn towards the direction of the screams, nobody moving, frozen, rooted to the spot, the intensity of the screams such. And then his heart sighs in relief, his whole body relaxes, when he hears a loud roar, and a black shadow invades the sky that spreads over them, taking them all under its wings. Zayn looks down on them, perched on Drogon’s back, who halts above them, hovering in the sky.

“Thank fuck,” he hears Louis say and he silently agrees, it’s like every single one of his blood vessels had been blocked and now suddenly at the sight of Zayn blood seems to be gushing back into them.

What Zayn does next he isn’t expecting though. Actually no one is because gasps echo in the castle grounds when Zayn shouts ‘ _Dracarys’_ and a stream of fire explodes out of Drogon’s mouth, hitting the tower that holds Nomis Lannister and her son. Dihahs lets out a terrifying cry from his crouched position and Louis has his jaw hanging open, which Liam knows is less due to shock and more due to being denied the honor of killing his sister himself.

But Zayn doesn’t kill her, no. Again, throwing him and many others around him off he flies Drogon to the single window, which is ablaze with dancing flames, and then he is holding out his hand. Liam watches, along with everyone, as a minute or two later, a small hand clasps around Zayn’s and Zayn helps a boy out of the lit window, and onto his dragon. He holds his hand out again, this time for Nomis.

“Kill me if she takes it,” Louis mutters to him and Harry.

He waits in silence, Zayn still holding out his hand despite the fire that seems to be reaching for him. And he knows it won’t hurt Zayn, but that doesn’t stop him from holding his breath or tapping his foot in anxiousness. A hand finally protrudes out of the fire-framed window, wrapping around Zayn’s hand as the man helps the former queen, clad in an orange gown onto his dragon’s back.

“I swear I don’t know who has given me more of a shock,” Louis says, as Drogon proceeds to set the entire Lion Tower on fire, sparks of flame shooting up into the sky, as they envelope the tower completely, “Zayn or my sister.”

“Please, don’t compare Zayn to a woman like her,” is out of his mouth before he can stop himself, “If you reversed their roles, Nomis would have let him burn in the tower.”

Louis gives him a look, probably at the bitterness in his voice, but doesn’t deny his statement. Drogon starts to lower himself to the ground then, as the people in the castle grounds scatter, making room for Drogon to settle. There are men everywhere, standing on the balconies that look down at the grounds, standing in corridors, making a huge wide circle around Drogon when he lands with the grace of a meticulously trained dragon. Zayn lets the boy jump off first, before he jumps down the dragon’s back himself and then helps Nomis down. Her hair are all over the place, her eyes wide in fear or shock, Liam can’t tell as she keeps staring back and forth between Zayn and Drogon.

And then her eyes find Dihahs, cowering on the ground, decrepit and helpless. She runs towards him, her child behind her, and Zayn allows it when she wraps her arms around her brother, bursting into tears. Liam can’t believe she is the same woman he had met years ago, can’t believe she is the same woman Louis called _savage_ a few moments ago.

Zayn walks towards them then, towards him, Louis and Harry and he doesn’t know how he manages to keep his feet from running towards him or how he keeps his hands stiff by his sides, preventing them from wrapping around Zayn.

“You can do whatever you want with your siblings,” Zayn says to Louis, once he is standing in front of him, “Keep them wherever you want, however you want. Unless you don’t kill them or torture them. Also, don’t lay a finger on the child.”

“You kill all the fun,” Louis sighs, but nods his head in agreement, “Can I take Harry along to help me?”

“You can,” Zayn nods.

He stays silent, eyes stuck on Zayn while Zayn watches Louis and Harry help Nomis and Dihahs off the ground, and drag them away. The little boy; tearstained face and shaking legs follows them out of the castle grounds. Drogon remains upright behind Zayn, a tower slowly burning in the background, as Zayn starts to speak.

“I am sorry for abandoning you all,” Zayn yells loudly enough for all his men to hear, but his eyes never leave Liam’s, “But I couldn’t lose more of my men. I promised your families to bring you all back to Meereen safely and we have already lost a lot of men. So I had to protect you all. And that is why I left the battlefield. I did not abandon you, or betray you, or leave you alone when you needed me. I did it to keep you all alive.”

There is silence for some time, after which every man in the courtyard kneels down around Zayn, their heads bowed, a call of _Valar Dohaeris_ echoing around. He however, keeps standing, looking intensely back into Zayn’s eyes, trying to convey how he is more proud and only a bit mad at him.

“To those who are not of Meereen, I am Zayn Stormborn of House Targaryen,” Zayn announces again, “I am the Father of Dragons, the Unburnt, the First of my Name and the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Either you can kneel before me and come under my protection or you can be subjected to the same treatment as your former rulers.”

When no one objects, Zayn smiles at the people who have his eyes glued on him from every nook and corner of the castle, “You all can disperse. This country is safe for you all now.”

Then he turns to the Unsullied, “I need you all to filter this country off any person who denies me. Spread the news all over Westeros that there is a new king now, and everyone who comes to him will be welcomed with open arms.”

And then finally Zayn turns to him, while the Unsullied and the people march out of the castle grounds, scattering all around them, and opens his mouth to speak, “Listen Liam, I-”

“What are you still doing here? The Iron Throne is waiting you for my king,” Louis’ voice doesn’t let Zayn speak, as the Lannister comes running towards him, Harry in tow. They have excited smiles on their faces, and Liam clenches his fist, just because that is less violent than punching Louis square in the jaw.

“I am just- yes, lead me to the Iron Throne,” Zayn says, glancing at Liam, probably not having an appropriate excuse, an apologetic look on his face that makes him want to take Zayn in his arms and pepper his scruffy face with a thousand kisses.

Zayn starts to follow Louis into the castle, Harry walking beside them, but before he can even begin to trail behind them, he is stopped by Niall’s call who is sprinting into the castle grounds, approaching Liam in a frantic hurry.

“Our men need to talk to you,” Niall tells him, “They are waiting outside the castle gates. They all demand to talk to you.”

“How many are left?” he asks, scanning Niall’s anxious face.

“Almost two thousand,” Niall says, sorrowful eyes, “They are calling for you Lord Snow. They want to see you right now.”

“Yes, alright,” he nods, beginning to walk towards the castle gates. A part of him does want to go behind Zayn and witness him taking his rightful throne, but he knows he has a responsibility much bigger; a responsibility to his men who trusted him with their lives. With one last look towards where Zayn and Louis disappeared into the castle, he follows Niall towards his people.

—-

Louis is leading him through corridor after corridor, Harry beside him and he keeps following. Turning his head back again and again to check if Liam is following them yet, dejected every time he doesn’t find Liam behind him. He knows he should have told Liam before he went to seek Drogon out, but at that time he had thought of nothing but saving the people that were falling down dead around him. Louis was right in front of him so he had given Louis the orders before running where he knew his dragon was waiting. Hazzael and Arien, he knew weren’t capable of burning an entire convoy of men wearing iron armors down but Drogon had mastered the art of melting iron a long time ago. He knew he needed Drogon to burn down the army and Nomis’ tower.

“There you go,” Louis says, when they finally pass through the oak and bronze doors of the hall, right into the throne room.

It is spacious, high narrow windows on the left and right walls, making it look even larger than it actually is. A carpet, crimson, stretches from the doors all the way down to a raised iron dais with high and narrow steps that lead up to the magnificent Iron Throne; hundred of swords of vanquished, fallen men, forged together by the breath of the greatest dragons to form a throne of imposing appearance.

Walking up to it, Zayn touches the smooth seat, runs his hand up a sharp edge of one of the swords sticking out. He pictures his great grandfather on it, a portrait of mightiness and supremacy. And then he turns around, sitting on it, taking his ancestors’ place, taking his throne back, facing Louis and Harry. His breath falling short to find Liam standing between them now, looking up at him with eyes smiling and lips curved upwards. The feeling that fills him at the sight of Liam’s crinkled eyes, bright face, is strangely more empowering than being seated on the Iron Throne.

“Now the world feels right,” Louis says, “You actually belong there.”

He hears what Louis says but he only understands what Liam’s eyes are telling him, ‘ _You belong on that throne because it is as beautiful and precious as you are_.’ And he smiles, his bones ache of exhaustion but he smiles down at Liam because Liam is the only thing that actually matters.

“I might,” he says back to Louis, getting up from the throne and descending the platform to walk towards Louis, Liam and Harry, “But I am not staying here for long.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks, “This is your kingdom now.”

“It is,” he says, “But Meereen is my home and my people are waiting for me there, I can’t just abandon them. I, at least have to go back and inform them about my decisions. Choose a proper leader for Meereen, give my city into the hands of someone responsible and trustworthy.”

“So what do you decide for Kings Landing then, are you going to just leave? That won’t set a good image of you in front of the people you have just taken over,” Louis says.

“That is why I wanted to ask you,” he says, “How would you like to be the King’s Hand and look over Kings Landing for me whenever I am not here?”

Louis’ mouth drops open, his eyes shifting towards the throne and then back at him, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am,” he nods, feeling pride in the astonished expression on Louis’ face like he can’t believe Zayn would ask him to take the throne.

“You want me to sit on the Iron Throne and take your place, look after your kingdom?” Louis asks again, eyes still wide in shock.

“Until I come back from Meereen.”

“My father said I wasn’t worthy of the Iron Throne,” Louis says, voice low, “I am not worthy to sit on it, or run this kingdom.”

“Well, I am not your father,” he says, “And I would not have gained the Iron Throne without you, if you hadn’t taken charge like that, not questioning why I was leaving, we would probably still be fighting and losing men by the minute. Also you know Kings Landing better than I do at the moment; I know you will reinstate things better. So, will you be my hand?”

Louis grins at him, gratitude evident in his eyes, “Absolutely yes, and I won’t let you down, I swear on my life.”

“I am sure you won’t,” he says, “And Harry can stay here with you, to help you out if he wants.”

This time Harry’s eyes widen at him, “What?”

“I know you are never going to ask me, but if you want to stay here with Louis, and help him run things here, I won’t mind,” he says,

“I- won’t you need me in Meereen?” Harry asks.

“Obviously I would,” he says, “But I have an entire council there, they will help me out when needed. Louis would need someone here, and you are free to stay if you like.”

“He would like to yes,” Louis answers eagerly, “He would like it very much I am sure!”

“Harry?” he ignores Louis.

“I would like to stay,” Harry says, “I mean- I would also like to go but.”

“You would like to stay.”

“I would. But you will come back right?”

“Obviously, I will.”

“Alright, then I will stay.”

“Good,” he states, “Now if you two don’t mind, can you leave me here with Liam for a moment. I need to talk to him alone.”

Their heads turn towards Liam and then back at him before they are both nodding and walking away, talking in whispers the content of which Zayn doesn’t want to know. And then he turns to Liam, his brain freezing for a second because Liam’s eyes hold so much pride, so much affection, it’s overwhelming.

He doesn’t waste another moment; he just takes a step forward and throws his arms around Liam’s neck. Strong, familiar arms wrap around his body, as he buries his face in Liam’s neck, hugging him tightly. The hilt of Liam’s sword digs into his side, their armors separate their chests from colliding but he doesn’t care. He just needs to be in Liam’s arms because he has missed Liam. There was a constant nag in his chest when he had gone away about Liam not being safe, or Liam being hurt, or worse – and now Liam is here, holding him like he had promised and he thanks the gods for protecting the man he loves.

Pulling his head out of Liam’s neck he looks up into Liam’s soothing eyes, the calm after the storm, and grins up at him, “I can’t believe this, I can’t believe it’s all over and I am in your arms again.”

“I know,” Liam nods at him.

“You have Winterfell now,” he says, smiling, “You have your home back, Liam.”

“I already had my home back when you promised me you’d get it for me,” Liam kisses his forehead, not letting go of him.

“I kept my promise.”

“As I did mine.”

“Yes you did,” he says, “And as your reward you can have me, forever and ever and ever.”

Liam chuckles, “But I thought I already did have you?”

“You did, now you can have more,” he says, grinning, his face muscles hurting, “For example, right now, we both kind of need a bath. You have so much dirt on your face I can barely make out the beautiful crinkles beside your eyes.”

“I hate them,” Liam makes a face, “They are not beautiful at all.”

“You don’t know how wrong you are,” he says, unwrapping his arms from around Liam’s neck and moving back, reaching for his hand instead, “Come on now, let’s see where we are staying tonight. I can't wait to be completely alone with you.”

“Zayn, but I have to leave.”

“What?” he lets go off Liam’s hand and he doesn’t know why.

Liam bites his bottom lip hesitantly before replying, “I have to return my men to Castle Black, half of them are the men of the Night’s Watch and they all took an oath to stay in the North. They sacrificed their word for me, but now since the war is over and we have achieved what we wanted, they want to go to the North as soon as possible. Being the Lord Commander, I can’t deny them that. And I myself have to go and properly give a resignation before I can go to Winterfell.”

“Oh,” he says, his heart sinking faster than ever.

“I want to stay, trust me,” Liam takes his hand back in his, squeezing it tightly but it makes no difference to upheaval that has started in his chest, “But I can’t be neglectful towards what my men want, as a ruler yourself, you do understand that right?”

He wants to say no but he knows he’d be lying.

“I do, yes,” he gulps.

“If I leave now, I will reach Castle Black faster, I will reinstate things in Winterfell faster, and then I will come meet you in Meereen, or you come meet me in Winterfell, faster,” Liam smiles at him, it’s a sad one, rubbing circles over his hands with his thumbs, comforting.

“I will,” he manages to speak, there is a lump in his throat again, refusing to budge, a constant sting behind his eyes that he refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t cry in front of anyone and he isn’t going to start now.

“Zayn, please,” Liam says again, this time his hand coming up to caress his cheek, “I am so sorry b-”

“No, I should have known already,” he shakes his head hurriedly, Liam’s palm warm against his cheek, “I mean I leave for Meereen tomorrow myself right, so I should have known you would have to leave too. It just slipped my mind, or maybe I just didn’t want to think about it. I completely understand.”

“I am sorry,” Liam says again, guilt in his voice which shouldn’t be there because nothing is his fault, “I don’t want to go either, but Niall just informed me that my men are resolute.”

“You don’t have to give me an explanation Liam, I know,” he assures him, or maybe himself, he doesn’t know. His brain is too focused on keeping all the tears inside to function properly anymore, “So when do you leave, right now?”

“Yes,” Liam nods, “My men are already waiting at the castle gates.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just bites the inside of cheeks instead. He knows if he opens his mouth he might start begging Liam to stay, or even worse, he might start crying.

“Zayn, I love you,” Liam says, titling his chin up with his hand, “And I will see you soon, as soon as I can.”

He doesn’t say a single word to Liam, keeps gazing into his remorseful eyes, sorrow and desolation and reluctance hovering between eyelashes. And then he is grabbing Liam’s face in his hands, lifting himself up on his tiptoes, and pressing his lips against Liam’s. Huge hands go to rest on either side of his waist, as he kisses with all he is capable of at the moment, his knees getting weaker by the second. His eyes are heavy with tears but he keeps pulling them all inside, he doesn’t want Liam to see him cry, doesn’t want that to be Liam’s last memory of him until they see each other again.

When he pulls back, his heart drops another fifty feet in his chest to see tears in Liam’s eyes. Still, he doesn’t let his own fall, keeps biting his bottom lip, doesn’t say a word.

“I am going to go,” Liam says, voice cracking in the middle, “Do you want to come to the castle gates to say goodbye?”

He shakes his head, letting go off Liam’s face and extracting himself out of Liam’s arms.

“I can’t,” he manages to say, “I won’t be able to.”

“Alright,” Liam says in a low voice, “Goodbye then, Zayn. Take care of yourself, stay safe while I'm gone.”

He nods his head, his heart reaching out for Liam as Liam takes a few steps back. His feet feel heavy, heavier than the weight on his chest. With one last look of complete desperation, Liam finally turns around and starts to walk towards the doors. Zayn keeps his eyes on Liam’s back until he is out of the bronze doors. Liam doesn’t look back once, and Zayn is thankful.

For he would have collapsed if Liam had.

-

He has won a war and yet all he feels is an emptiness inside that refuses to leave.

Since Liam had left, he had taken a bath, changed into better softer clothes, checked up on his dragons, and tried to sleep but nothing made him feel better. Now he lies in this bed, bare-chested, in a foreign place. Louis had said this room had belonged to his father, the biggest, most comfortable room in the castle which opened out to a large balcony, from where Zayn could check on Hazzael, Arien and Drogon. But this huge room, with its hundred lavish offerings isn’t enough for him. All he wants is arms wrapped around him, four arrows printed on one of them.

The heavy weight on his chest doesn’t let him sleep, nor do the various thoughts and images of Liam his brain had unknowingly stored in its every curve. He misses Loki too, not having anything at all to curl up against. He can’t believe how fast these four months have passed, he can’t believe how it feels like it was just yesterday he was taking Liam down to the dragon pit. It was just yesterday Liam was smiling at him, dazzling eyes, bright face. Just yesterday he had his lips pressed to Liam’s, not wanting to stop kissing him at all. Can’t believe he is suddenly smiling, because that is what the word _Liam_ does to him, this is what the thought of Liam reduces him down to; to smile despite himself, just by himself, alone, even when he feels hollow inside.

“I thought you would be sad after I left, but it’s good to see you smiling instead.”

He jumps up into a sitting position, his eyes finding the source of the voice that sends his heart into a whirlpool of emotions, “Liam.”

Liam smiles at him, not wearing his armor anymore, his face clean of all the dirt, as he walks into the room and stands in front of his bed, “Zayn.”

“How are you back?” he asks, not believing his eyes, pretty sure he is seeing things.

“Halfway through I realized it wasn’t necessary for me to leave,” Liam says, “I could just send my men back with Niall and leave with you tomorrow. What was necessary for me to do was to come back and wipe the hopeless expression off your face that it had before I left.”

“You came back for me?”

Liam shrugs, smiling wider.

“Oh god,” he says, emotions welling up all over his body, hitting him hard at every spot, “Come here.”

He opens his arms for Liam, unable to move for he would have jumped on Liam himself if his body had allowed. Liam kicks off his sandals, removes his doublet and tunic off his body and then he is climbing into bed, crawling towards Zayn. Zayn throws his arms around his neck again, scrambling up to settle on his lap, as Liam holds him like he always does, their chests pressing together, Zayn’s legs going around Liam’s waist, his face going to hide in Liam’s neck.

He doesn’t know when it happens, but tears are falling out his eyes, as his body trembles in Liam’s arms and Liam runs his hand up and down his back, trying to pull his face out of his neck to look at him, “Zayn are you crying, Zayn?”

It doesn’t matter anymore though, he can’t control himself. He has hit the height of his emotions, he loves Liam so much its maddening. A moment ago all he was craving was for Liam’s touch, and now all he can feel is exactly that. So he cries like never before, in gratitude, in joy, in happiness. Like he has never felt before.

Liam is finally able to make him look at him when he allows him to pulls his face back up, doesn’t care if tears are falling down his eyes, doesn’t care if his face is a horrid mess.

“Zayn, why are you crying, baby? Don’t, just,” Liam says, his own voice thick as he cups Zayn’s face in his hands.

“I missed you so much,” is all he can manage to say in between sobs, his body weak, it’s like all his energy drained out through his eyes.

“I am here now,” Liam says.

“I know,” he sniffs, “And I am happy that you are. I can’t believe that you are.”

“Are you crying because you are happy?” Liam asks, examining his face.

He nods.

“Oh god,” is what Liam says, chuckling, before he brings his face closer, their foreheads attaching together like magnets, “I cannot believe you are real, you cannot be real.”

Liam kisses him on the lips, a short, comforting kiss, warm lips pressing against his parched ones.

“It’s not my fault if you made me fall in love with you so badly,” he tells Liam, as Liam wipes the tears off his face with his calloused fingers.

“Well, I don’t apologize for that,” Liam smiles at him, the crinkles coming back and ruining his existence all over again, “Since you got your revenge by making me feel the same way.”

“It’s strange,” he looks down at Liam, “Because I didn’t like you at all when you first came to the Pyramid. I thought you were in alliance with the Baratheons, and you were a ruthless murderer.”

“I didn’t like you either,” Liam says, “I thought you were a man who only talked big and lied about having dragons.”

“But then you proved me wrong.”

“You were entirely different than what I had thought about you.”

“You were the kindest, most honorable man I had ever met.”

“You were honest, and just, and unlike any other king I had ever seen in my life.”

“So, obviously I fell in love with you. Anybody would.”

“I can’t think of my life without you, now. It’s not possible.”

“I love you Liam. And I can’t tell you how much,” he says, kissing Liam’s nose.

“I would say I love you too,” Liam says, “But I am a bit mad at you.”

Liam lets go of him then, pushing him off himself and moving to lie down on the bed, head on pillow, arms folded above his chest, lips pursed, staring at the canopy of the bed, an expression more playful than serious on his face. Confused, he lies down beside Liam, turning to face him, “Why, what have I done?”

Liam turns to face him, “Someone didn’t notify me before disappearing in the middle of a war. And I was worried sick about him.”

“Oh,” he realizes, he hadn’t explained that to Liam.

“You could have told me you had a plan,” Liam says, “I knew nothing about Drogon coming into battle; I thought you had left him behind to guard Meereen.”

“It was a last moment idea,” he says, “I decided I wanted him to come with us. All the time we were travelling here, he was with us. Just way too up high in the clouds to be seen. I wanted him to jump in, if things got out of hand.”

“And when did you think of this?” Liam asks, shifts to put his arm around Zayn’s waist.

“While I was changing into my armor, before the battle in Meereen,” he answers truthfully, “I would have told you but there was no time.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, his eyes just keep roaming all over his place, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Are you still a bit mad at me?” he asks.

“No, just in awe of you. Just when I think I have known all sides of you, you surprise me with a new one,” Liam says, eyes full of admiration, hand coming up to caress his cheek, “I didn’t know you could so effortlessly lead a battle, let alone have two backup plans in case we were to fail. I did not see that coming, sometimes it feels like I don’t know you at all.”

“Like I said,” he smirks playfully at Liam, his heart growing five times bigger at the praise, “You know nothing, Snow.”

Liam pulls him closer with the arm he has around his waist at that, so that his palms press into Liam’s chest and his nose rests against his.

“Well how many other sides there are of you that I should know?” Liam whispers on his lips.

“I don’t know,” he tries to shrug in Liam’s grip, “None, a few, a whole bunch.”

“Hmm,” Liam presses his lips solemnly before saying, “You know what, it's fine. It’s fine if you have a million secrets, because I am going to spend my whole life drawing them all out of you.”

He feels his cheeks heat up instantly, his eyes moving down to Liam’s lips, back to his sincere eyes. He presses his forehead against Liam’s; doesn’t know when the gesture had become his forehead’s most favorite thing to do.

“I would let you draw those secrets out of me right now, if I wasn’t as exhausted as I am,” he says, “All I want at the moment is to fall asleep, here in your arms. And wake up an eternity later, with you still right beside me.”

Liam presses a kiss onto his lips again, prolonging it for a good few minutes before he pulls back, “Come on then, come on. I will hold you until you will want me to.”

“I want you to forever,” he says, shifting below to press his cheek against Liam’s chest, pressing one hand above Liam’s heart, the other going around Liam. Both Liam’s arms are wrapped around him, keeping him close as he shuts his eyes and breathes, feeling Liam’s nose snuggled into his hair, his breath falling into his scalp, “I love you, forever, Liam. My sun and stars.”

Liam presses a long, heavy kiss into his hair, “I love you too, the moon of my life.”

And for the first time in his entire life, lying peacefully in his own kingdom, the soft roars of his dragons outside his window, enveloped in the arms of a man he loves with all he has, a man who sees him for what he truly is, Zayn feels like a king.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry if this was a mess. [tumblr.](http://ziamasf.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
